Miles To Go
by Crystal Spinning
Summary: Billy Coen and Rebecca Chambers met one night in the middle of a nightmare. But what events led them to the horrors in the Arklay Mountains? Will they manage to escape the rapid-fire chain of events that haunt them? Or are they doomed?
1. 1988

**Author's Note:**

**High guys! This is my first time writing a real Resident Evil fanfic, besides the lemon (The Piano Lesson, also Billy/Rebecca. Rated M.) **

**I played it at my friends house, and I was a total pussy because RE0 and REmake scared the shit out of me! But eventually, I fell in love with sexy Billy and Rebecca, and I decided to write a fanfiction about their relationship, because I firmly believe that they have a strong, awesome fanfic fodder kind of chemistry.**

**We know how they met and their adventure together on that one night. But we don't know what happens after: or just as importantly, before. I haven't really read any fanfictions about their lives before they met, so I decided to make up my own story. **

**These first few chapters will span the ten years before they met, each little chapter will be their lives and their adventures on that one day, until they meet.**

**Although there's only one chapter per year, once I hit their meeting and their future, my writing will get a lot more extensive. Because it's fucking hard to write about them pre-zombie apocalypse/romance/adventure. Haha. **

**I love reviews, good and bad. Hope you like it. x**

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><p><span>1988<span>

Billy watched in thinly veiled disgust as Charlene Regan, the most beautiful girl in his town, teased him. Her bright brown eyes sparkled with an amber undertone, and her brown hair was perfectly done to the last strand.

She annoyed the hell out of him. This was her sixteenth birthday party. Everyone who was remotely attractive, popular, or had money was invited.

Billy most definitely wasn't invited because of the latter two categories. Charlene wanted Billy. He tried not to snort when she asked him to dance.

"Sorry," he rolled his eyes. Then, trying to think of a good excuse: "Bent my ankle at work the other day," he lied. Despite disliking this girl, he'd never want to embarrass her. He forgot to limp as he walked to the corner.

He was surprised to see Anna Richmond there. She was a mousy girl, somewhat overweight and extremely quiet. He guessed her parents were rich. She looked miserable though. So an idea came to his head.

"Hey," he said to her.

She turned towards him slowly, reluctantly. "Hi, Billy," she said softly. "What are you doing here?"

He tried to put her at ease. "What, isn't it obvious how popular I am?" he asked sarcastically, knowing Anna knew the way he avoided most of his classmates. She laughed, and he took it as a good sign, continuing. "And it's also my insane good looks," he joked. She burst out laughing, and Billy pretended offense. "What, you don't believe me?"

She grinned at him, showing smooth, white teeth in a becoming smile. "You're attractive to monsters," she joked back. "You're too scary-looking for normal people," she added, referring to his stature and dark, unkempt hair.

"How about you go on a walk with the big bad wolf?" he asked quietly. "I'm not really eager to be here either."

"Who says I'm not having the time of my life?" she replied defiantly, crossing her arms stubbornly. Billy's eyes zeroed in on ample breasts.

"You'll have a better time with me," he said huskily, letting a wide grin slowly spread across his face. Talking to Anna for five minutes was far more interesting than listening to Charlene's empty flirting.

She looked surprised, and then smiled back at him. "I don't even know why I came."

"Nothing better to do?" Billy offered. "That's my reasons," he said, leading her to the door. Then, remembering Charlene, he grabbed his friend John. "Tell Charlene my ankle hurt so I left," he ordered.

John looked down at Anna, then at Billy, a grin crossing his face. "Ankle?"

Billy let an apologetic grin cross his face. "I 'hurt' it falling down at work the other day," he answered. John and Billy worked at an old widow's house, cleaning, cooking, and landscaping. Billy did most of the heavier work, considering he was a hell of a lot bigger than John.

John burst out laughing at Billy's 'clumsiness' and nodded. "Gotcha."

Billy led Anna outside and began walking, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Anna began to speak. Usually when girls spoke it was uninteresting chatter: but Anna spoke of things Billy could relate too, and he began contributing to the conversation.

"I swear, my grandparents really do that," Billy solemnly promised Anna when she disbelieved his story of his grandparents still having sex. "I've walked in on them more than once. Since my grandpa has a broken hip, my grandmother has to be on top." Billy was lying through his teeth, and Anna knew it. She burst out laughing, a genuine sound.

"What's it like, living with them?" she asked curiously. Then she blushed. "I don't mean to pry, but—"

Billy interrupted her gently. "I don't know. I don't remember my dad, really, and my mother only comes around every once in a while. I guess it's what I'm used to. I don't know what it's like because I don't know how it's any different," he said honestly.

Anna looked at him with sharp eyes, perceiving him. "You're strange, Billy." She said.

Billy was somewhat stung by this remark. "How so?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"You're so handsome and strong, but you don't bother using it to intimidate people. You're quiet, you don't bother with girls—"

"Calling me a fruit, are you?" he asked sarcastically. "I'm bothering with you, aren't i?"

She rolled her eyes. "I don't count, Billy."

"Why not?" he demanded, stopping to look at her.

"I'm not pretty," she explained, exasperated, as if he should already know this.

Billy paused and deliberately looked up and down her frame. She was round and thick, with soft skin and a welcoming, voluptuous figure. She has enormous gray eyes, fringed by long, curly blonde lashes. Her hair was thick and equally curly, with a natural wave. She had a full mouth, a welcoming smile, and, in Billy's opinion, a fantastic rack. She reddened under his obvious stare. "Yup." He told her decisively. "You're pretty. Beautiful, I'm afraid."

She burst out laughing. Billy wondered what kind of ridicule she went through to be so convinced of her worthlessness. At first glance, she was average. At careful inspection, she was stunning. He suddenly felt an urge to convince her.

"I'm serious!" he insisted with a genuine smile on his face. "Maybe if you were more outgoing, people would notice it. To be honest, I've never heard you talk this much before."

She countered: "I've never heard you this _serious_ before." Billy was often sarcastic, usually abrasive, and always skirted serious issues with his friends.

"So you know I'm serious?" he challenged.

Anna looked at him without artifice, without any hint of flirtatiousness and answered. "I know you're serious, and I know you're the only one. It doesn't matter if I look like Charlene, Billy." She struggled to explain her acceptance of her lack of beauty.

Billy gave her a sensual look, long having practiced it on strings of salesgirls, hoping for a discount. "Maybe you aren't beautiful," he conceded. "But I happen to think that you are."

"Always knew you were crazy," she joked good naturedly, an instant before his lips descended upon hers.

To give her credit, Anna took it very well. When he released the kiss, she merely looked at him. "I usually wait until the third date," she said sarcastically.

He burst out laughing, knowing she had even less experience with 'dating' than he. She grinned at him with a stunning smile and he offered to walk her home.

She looked at him drily. "We're walking in the direction of your house… mine's across town," she informed him with a wry smile.

He marveled at how clever she was. "Okay… need me to walk you to my house?"

"What makes you think I'd want to go to your house?" she arched her brows.

"I want you meet my grandparents," he decided, on the spur of the moment. "They've never met any of my friends."

"You don't have friends. And who says we're friends?" he grinned with unashamed truth at her first statement, then frowned at her second.

"Do I need to propose a formal offer?" he asked sarcastically.

She smirked at him. "Yes. I'd love to see you on your knees."

Her wording sparked images in Billy's head that he didn't need right now. He shrugged. "Come meet them anyway. I've never brought a girl to them."

She burst out laughing. "But you brought John to them?"

He scowled at her implications. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled with a poisonous voice. But he liked how easy it was with her, to laugh with her and joke with her.

They walked along in easy silence, Anna not needing to fill the silence with chatter, and Billy not wanting too.

When they reached his house, he noticed a car in the driveway, one that didn't belong to his grandparents. He grabbed Anna's had and nearly dragged her through the door in his eagerness.

"Mom!" he yelled, seeing the woman's strained, smiling face. She stood gracefully from her conversation with her parents and strode over to Billy, hugging him.

He already stood taller and wider than her, but he let her hold him anyway. She released him and smiled at Anna. "Hello," she said, sticking a hand to Anna. "I'm Maggie. Coen."

Anna smiled at her easy friendliness. "I'm Billy's friend, Anna Richmond."

The name brought narrowness to the older Coen's eyes. But the look in her eye left as quickly as it came, and she led the pair to the couch with the other two.

Margaret Litchen, or Marge, as everyone was invited to call her had noticed the slight tension between her daughter and her grandson's friend.

William Sr., however, noticed nothing and heartily introduced himself to Anna.

Anna noticed the way Billy's face gentled when speaking to his grandparents, the smile that lit his face when he looked at his often absent mother. She was so absorbed in these family dynamics that she didn't even hear the clock strike midnight until Maggie pointed it out.

"Dear, do you want Billy to give you a ride home? I wouldn't have you walking at night, not in these streets. Anywhere in the world is dangerous at night."

"Yes, remember the Lisa Trevor case a while back?" William shook his head. "It's disgraceful when a child goes missing. And her mother too!"

"That case was never solved, was it?" Maggie tsk'd and yawned. "Well, younguns, I'm off to bed." She kissed her husband tenderly, then her daughter and grandson. Anna gave her a friendly smile, and Maggie, overcome with delight at Billy's interest in her, kissed her cheek as well.

Anna seemed surprised but pleased at the sign of open affection from the older woman.

Billy spoke: "Sure, I'll drive her." William nodded with approval.

"That's right, you must always be a gentleman, Billy."

Maggie smiled at the three of them. "Mom had the right idea. I'm going to bed as well. I'll see you in the morning. It was lovely meeting you, Anna," she waved and walked from the room, her mind whirring. Richmond, her name was? She only hoped Billy would be careful.

Billy stood and gently kissed his grandfather's cheek. "I'll take Anna home now, 'Pa. I'll see you in the morning."

William nodded and kicked back in his chair, pulling a cigar from his pocket and upon lighting it and placing between his thin lips, sighed in contentment.

Anna watched Billy as he grabbed a pair of keys from the kitchen counter. He held the door for Anna as they walked out to the car, and even opened the car door for her. "Really taking that advice to heart, aren't you, Billy?" she teased.

Billy grinned. "I always listen to them."

She smiled warmly. "They seem wonderful."

Billy, suddenly choked. "Wonderful? Those old bats are crazy. Once I came home late with a hickey on my neck and my grandmother ran at me with a frying pan."

Anna rolled her eyes in disbelief.

"Don't believe me? There's another time when that kindly old man you saw back there dumped a bucket of mud on my head because I didn't weed their garden. That's why I listen to them."

Anna burst out laughing. "Really?"

His eyes darkened with mirth. "Yup. Worms and all. he went out there, weeded the garden himself, came inside, filled it with water, dumped it on my head and made me clean it up."

"What about your mother?" she asked curiously.

Billy shrugged, his manner becoming slightly evasive, the Billy she was used to seeing before tonight. "She works a whole lot. She'll come around for a week or two every six months or so."

Anna felt him become tense and quieted. It was about a twenty minute drive from his home to hers. She didn't want to end the great night she had with Billy feeling uncomfortable. So she began to speak about her parents. "My parents work together: it's how they met. They're always working. I rarely see them. I suppose that's why we're so wealthy. I don't really know either of my parents."

Billy suddenly felt like an ass. He didn't know why, but the feeling was unshakable. He slowed slightly below the speed limit, gaining more time with Anna. "I guess I'm luckier than most. My grandparents don't have much, which I guess is half the reason why my mother always works. She sends checks every month, about half a dozen. The mortgage, the bills, a college fund for me, miscellaneous for my grandparents, for me, and insurance. She sends me gifts and cards. We write each other every week," he admitted.

He had never told anyone that before.

Anna looked at Billy's handsome profile in the darkness, and suddenly felt a deep emotion grip her. She couldn't quite name the warm rush that came over her.

She had never known that Billy's obnoxious exterior hid such secrets within.

When they finally stopped in front of Anna's enormous, sprawling home, he got out of the car with her, intending to fully see his duty through.

He walked her to her enormous door and smiled at her friendly. Before she could walk inside though, he grabbed her arm, warm and soft. "I'd like to do this again. Maybe not exactly like this but I mean…" he fumbled for the right words.

She shook her head. "I formally accept your friendship, Billy Coen," she interrupted him pretentiously. She grinned at him, as dazzlingly as ever, and he felt a rush of what felt like relief wash over him.

Billy had made a friend.

Rebecca Chambers was scared of the dark.

Actually, she was scared of a whole lotta things. She never told nobody though. She didn't want them finding out she was a baby. The other boys and girls would make fun of her. Especially Kyle. He was a big bully.

As the lightning struck, she felt a sort of relief. She didn't like lightning either, but at least, for a quick second, it brought light back. But as thunder rumbled right behind it, she trembled in her bed.

Rebecca knew a lot of things. She was smart, and she knew it. She knew that she was an orphan. She knew that she was eight years old. She knew that it was her fault she didn't have a mommy.

She heard the ladies talking one day. She wasn't 'pose to 'evedrop' but she did anyway. They talked about how Kyle really did have a daddy, but that he was a bad guy. Rebecca heard about how Jenny might get 'dopted by some people. And they talked about how Rebecca wasn't 'posed to have been put here, but her mommy died in burth. Whatever that meant.

Rebecca knew it was her fault though. She felt real bad about it. She had always wanted a mommy. Besides Kyle, Rebecca had been here the longest. Kyle was eleven, and he had been here since he was two. Rebecca had been here her whole life. Nobody wanted to 'dopt her or Kyle. It made her cry sometimes, but she did it real quiet so nobody would hear. She wasn't a baby.

Rebecca was a big girl. She was even allowed to take tests. Other people her age went to the teacher, Miss Gleason, on the second floor. But Rebecca didn't. Rebecca and Miss Lily sat in Rebecca's room that she shared with three other girls and Miss Lily asked her questions. Usually they were easy, but lately they had been getting harder.

Miss Lily had given her almost a dozen tests this month. The first time she took the test, she was really confused. It was the strangest test she'd ever taken. She did real bad on it, and begged Miss Lily if she could take it again.

Finally, Miss Lily said okay, and Rebecca did real good. She bet she got an A plus. That meant she was all correct, and not wrong. Miss Lily had praised Rebecca and asked if she wanted to take a few other tests.

Rebecca agreed, wanting Miss Lily to praise her again. Today, Rebecca was gonna find out some stuff about the tests. That's why she was still awake. Usually if it started to storm, she made herself fall asleep so she wouldn't have to listen to it.

Rebecca tried really hard. She made herself go all soft and she didn't know when, but she fell asleep.

When she woke up, there were lights on outside. That meant the earth had turned around so it was sunny. Kyle said that in China it was nighttime again. Rebecca didn't know if she believed him.

She ran out of bed in her pajamas. She was the first one awake in her room. In her room there was Jessica, who was six, Jenny who was four and almost 'dopted, and Sara who was almost nine. She was already 'dopted. This was her last week here.

She ran to Miss Lily's office and sat in her chair, lady-like how Miss Lily told her. She had braided Rebecca's hair the night before and it was still in a tightly wound knot. Rebecca was glad. She hated brushing her long hair.

Miss Lily looked at Rebecca and smiled. Rebecca thought Miss Lily was beautiful. Kyle said she was ugly. That's why Rebecca never believed Kyle. He told lies.

"Good morning Becca," she smiled. "I have your scores right here…"

Rebecca stood up and ran to Miss Lily's side. "Okay," she said eagerly.

Miss Lily started reading a bunch of numbers to Rebecca. Rebecca could count to one thousand. But she didn't like too. Numbers confused Rebecca a little bit. The number Miss Lily said was Rebecca's number was very high. Rebecca frowned. "My favorite number is three." She informed Miss Lily.

Miss Lily smiled. "But there's three digits in your score," she pointed out. Rebecca considered it. She nodded.

"Okay. Did I do good?" she asked anxiously, eager to please.

Miss Lily smiled kindly at her and squeezed her shoulder. "You did very good, Rebecca. In fact, you're going to go to class with the big kids."

Rebecca looked suspicious. "I don't wanna go to class with Kyle," she complained.

Miss Lily laughed. "You aren't going to be in that class. I've called one of our oldest students to take you."

As if on cue, one of the biggest girls stepped in. Her name was Lindsey, and she was thirteen. Rebecca felt scared. She had never talked to Lindsey.

Lindsey smiled kindly at her. Rebecca felt an instant relief. "Hello, Rebecca. You're going to be in my class."

Rebecca felt acute terror. There were nine kids in Rebecca's class. There were six in Lindsey's. She knew their names. There was Lindsey, Matt, Ricky, and Michael. She was scared of them. They were bigger than her.

"Come on," Lindsey held her hand and walked with Rebecca.

This class was on the third floor. There were four floors in the building. On the ground floor, the teachers and tutors slept there. There was also the 'ministration offices. On the second floor, there was the cafeteria and the play room, and two classrooms. On the third floor there were all the rest of the classrooms, and the fourth floor was where everybody else slept. There was one elevator. Rebecca was fascinated by it. People only used it with the permission.

Rebecca walked into the door, with Lindsey holding the door because it was too heavy. Mr. Johnson smiled at Rebecca. She felt a knot churning in her stomach. She was too small to be in this class! Why did Miss Lily put her here?

"Hello, Rebecca," the old man smiled kindly at her. "Do you know why you're in this class?"

Rebecca shook her head shyly. He knelt down and explained very carefully. "Those tests you were taking, did they seem odd?" at her nod, he continued. "Well, because they were a special test to see how smart you were. We already knew you were extremely intelligent, and we wanted to test your capabilities."

She looked at him, still confused. He put a hand on her shoulder, gently. "You're a little genius, Rebecca."

Rebecca knew that geniuses were really smart. But she didn't feel like one of them. She was too young to be a genius. Besides, girls weren't geniuses. Kyle told her.

But Kyle told lies…

Rebecca suddenly realized that's why Miss Lily tutored her privately, why Kyle called her stupid and why she was in this class. She was smart. She wasn't smarter than the people in this class, but she _could_ be. If she tried hard enough.

The bell rang, signaling lunch was ready. Rebecca felt tears come to her eyes. She wasn't done with her worksheet. Mr. Johnson had given her a paper and explained how to solve the math problems. Lindsey waited for her while the boys bounded from the room. But Rebecca didn't wanna leave yet.

Lindsey came and sat next to her, as did Mr. Johnson. "What's wrong, Rebecca?"

"I'm not done my paper yet!" she started to cry. Lindsey comforted her, but Mr. Johnson looked at her, deeply into her eyes.

"It's all right. I'm here to make sure you learn, not to make sure you're perfect," he said kindly.

Rebecca looked into the man's eyes and wrapped her arms around him. He seemed stunned, but after a moment, awkwardly began to pat her back.

Rebecca felt relieved at his acceptance. "I want to stay in this class," she decided fervently.

Mr. Johnson smiled. "I'm glad, Rebecca."


	2. 1989

**Author's Note:**

**I've gotten beautiful reviews for this story, and I'd like to thank the people that have written them. You guys are the best!**

**Okay, some more content is revealed in this story. This content is important for later in the story, so make sure you remember! This fanfiction is going to span a large amount of time, as well as many events. So there's going to be lots of stuff going on, and I hope you enjoy it! **

**Read and Review! :D**

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><p>1989<p>

Billy knew he wanted Anna. The only thing in his way, preventing him from getting what he wanted was Anna herself.

Anna played off any of his words or moves, joking about her weight or her inexperience or that they were supposed to be friends. Billy didn't see things the way she did. She was smaller than him, he could, and would willingly teach her anything she needed to know about kissing, sex, and the dynamics between two people attracted to each other, and the reason he wanted her was because she was so goddamn elusive.

Billy was used to getting what he wanted with girls. He wasn't a virgin, or even close to it. But since he didn't talk about his experiences with the girls he slept with, most people believed he hadn't even kissed a girl. This was due to Billy's lack of dating history.

But he'd sure as hell take Anna on a date or twenty.

More than lust for her, Billy felt a genuine respect for her that he'd never had in any of his other sexual encounters. While she refused to be with him, he felt free to explore other routes, with other girls, but he always returned to her.

She was his best friend. Every free moment he had, he was with her. His grandparents loved her: his mother approved. And Billy knew how deeply she cared about him.

He had gotten into a fight a few months ago, ended up bloodied and bruised. Anna had nearly cried when she saw him. He regretted worrying her, but was secretly glad she had revealed how she felt about him.

The night before, Billy had kissed her, surprising her. He had felt the way she felt, the way she had hesitated, then clutched to him returning his kiss with desperate fervor. He groaned and couldn't stop himself from running his hands up and down her curves, the welcoming chest that he could drown in, soft smooth skin, her round bottom, the mound between her legs that was already wet. She moaned at his touch and clung onto him, and he knew how badly she wanted him. He understood right then that her passion matched his perfectly, and he was ready to drown in her when she pulled away, pushing him away from her with strength fueled by anger and fury.

He had been panting with the effort. No other girl had ever inspired such an incredibly powerful desire within him. It was all he could to do keep from fucking her right then and there.

"Goddamnit, Billy!" she had shouted at him, frustrated. "Why do you have to do this to me?"

Billy was furious, the way he'd lost control and allowed her to lose hers. He slammed his fist into the wall of her living room. "Fucking shit!" he'd hissed, pissed at his actions. But he was fed up with this shit. "Because I want you!" he yelled right back at her, forgetting that his stature usually frightened girls, his anger taking over his control.

"I know you're used to getting what you want, Billy, but I'm not one of those girls!" she blazed at him, not intimidated in the least. "I'm not going to let you sleep with me and then watch you leave! I know you by now Billy, you're the love them, then leave them type. I'm not going to let you do that to me!" the hurt in her voice threw him off, but only for a moment.

"I know you aren't! Christ, Anna, don't you see that's why I want you? I don't want to leave you!" he ran a hand through his arm and slammed his fist at the doorframe. She still wasn't intimidated. She had marched up to him and punched him in the stomach. He was too distracted to even pretend he felt it.

"Goddamn you, Billy Coen," she had started to cry, pounding on his chest with her small fists. "Goddamn…" He felt the rhythmic pounding on his chest and lust overcame him again, when he remembered how quickly he had gotten her wet, how full and heavy her breasts were, the welcoming curve of her waist—

He had just reacted, pulling her close to him and just basking in how it felt to hold her, when she had really started to cry. "Don't you see how you make me feel, Billy?" she had asked imploringly. "I care too much. I can't watch you leave, like how you do to every other girl." He felt tears wet his shirt, and he felt guilty for his actions: but Billy wasn't one to deny himself what he wanted, and Christ, did he want Anna.

"I won't leave you," he had promised into her ear. "Just think about it, Anna. Think about us." he whispered his words into her ear, realizing the effect it'd have on her, to have him so close.

He was waiting now. But he wouldn't wait forever. Not with the way she made him feel just with her warm presence.

He walked through her front door, confident of his welcome. He wandered around her enormous home, until he spied the piano. He sat down at the seat and cracked his knuckles professionally.

Then he banged on the keys as loud as he could to get her attention.

She came running down the stairs, and he was struck by how beautiful she didn't know she was. She had slimmed down somewhat in the past year, and her hair was longer. It looked gilded in the light of her fancy chandelier, and her face seemed pinched with annoyance at him. Billy grinned to himself. She knew it was him the second she heard him bashing on the instrument.

What he loved about her is the ease they had with each other. He could tease her and push her around, feeling without restraint. He'd never been able to do that with a girl before. She scolded him and bitched at him and mocked him, not afraid of him, not worried about irritating him, and felt free to touch him. He loved that.

Christ, she didn't understand what her little hands touching his shoulder could do to him. His ever-present lust for her was more powerful than any he'd ever had for any girl.

"Don't you know how to play?" she sighed at him, their tension from yesterday forgotten. He knew she was annoyed. She didn't bother to hide it. He loved that she lacked pretention or coyness.

He grinned. "Teach me?" he got up and let her sit at the stool.

She sat delicately and set her fingers at their proper positions, and opened her mouth preparing to explain everything to him. But before she could, he sat right behind her, meeting her thigh to thigh, his dick pressed right against her luscious bottom. He entwined his fingers with hers and waited, pretending innocence.

He could feel her heart beat, heard her swallow. She led his much larger hand to their proper positions and started to explain, her voice shaky.

"There are certain keys, and each of them makes a different sound," she said, and Billy smirked, knowing perfectly well how flustered she was. He could feel her heartbeat pounding, heard the way her voice trembled.

She began rambling about something and he leaned into her.

"Have you thought about it?" he whispered into her ear, softly.

She stiffened her back, unknowingly shoving more of her beautiful body into him. God he wanted to fuck her. And kiss her, and cherish her. "I have…"

"And?"

"Billy, don't even pretend you don't know how much I love you. It's _you_ I'm worried about."

He heard the catch in her voice and wrapped his arms around her artlessly. She leaned against him comfortably. He answered honestly. "As long as I'm with you, Anna, I promise I won't need any other girls."

He heard a sniff. "Then I guess I better keep you around." she relaxed against and he grabbed her chin, turning her face towards him and kissed her, feeling joy bubble inside him. Christ. Billy Coen was on top of the fucking world, where the wind smelled like strawberries and every breath he took tasted like mint and apple.

Rebecca sat with Kyle and Lindsey in the corner. "See, for biology, there's biotic and abiotic…" she explained to them, trying to help them understand.

The three had become inseparable. Rebecca knew they had to band together, lest they'd be alone. Most children older than ten were sent to foster homes rather than an orphanage, and neither of the three had any chance of adoption anymore. The last people who visited Rebecca had decided she was freaky. Lindsey was too old. Kyle was a little shit. Rebecca wasn't supposed to use that word, but it was true.

They were her best friends now. She could say whatever she wanted to them. Even Kyle. They had banded together from necessity, and they wouldn't be separated easily.

They always studied together. Lindsey and Rebecca slept in the same room now. The three ate together, argued, talked. Rebecca learned so much about them, _from_ them.

And Mr. Johnson.

He was the first grownup to treat her like the genius she understood she was. In fact, he was the reason she was so interested in biology and anatomy.

"Rebecca," he had called her name one day after class. "Come here for a moment… there's something I'd like to speak with you about."

Rebecca immediately joined him. He was a father figure to her, she'd never disobey him.

"Yes, Mr. Johnson?" she asked, wondering if she had done something to displease him.

"Do… do you know the circumstances of your origins?" he asked.

Rebecca was confused for a moment by his wording, but when she understood, she answered truthfully. "Not really."

"Would you like too?" His face seemed in an agony of discomfort, as if he didn't know what he was doing, how to share a tender moment with her. In all honesty, he truly didn't know what he was doing. He was a single man, without children. He didn't know how to give comfort, or impart earth shattering information such as this.

For Rebecca, the answer was obvious. She eagerly sat with him, waiting for him to continue.

He cleared his throat, likely feeling somewhat awkward. "I shouldn't be telling you this, Rebecca. It must remain between the two of us. But I feel you have the level of maturity, and by far the level of intelligence to be able to handle this type of information."

She nodded affirmatively. She didn't care. She just wanted—_needed_ to know.

"Your mother was sixteen years old. She lived in Raccoon City, Montana and was sixteen years old. She did not disclose the name of your father. She had not expressed any desire to abort or to give you up to an adoption agency. In short, she wanted you. However, due to her small stature and the way you were situated within the womb, the birth had fatal complications."

Rebecca didn't miss a beat. "It's my fault she died, then?"

"Not so much yours, as her own genetic faults. She seems to have passed on these traits to you. According to her file, you seem to resemble her almost exactly, besides the fact that her eyes were brown, and yours are green."

"So I'll probably have problems conceiving?" Rebecca always marveled at how intelligent she sounded. In the past year, she knew she had come far. It came along with her constant studying, tutoring sessions, and spending so much time with the intelligent man before her.

"In all likelihood, yes. You'll probably reach a maximum of five feet, two inches, and you are a small girl, so I doubt you'll ever weigh much, which should be a relief to your future vanity."

Rebecca felt relief at finally being told, but a sudden melancholy took over her. She had killed her mother. It was more complicated than that, she supposed, but she couldn't help feel that it was her fault. Her entire life was of her own making.

She would be sure to study up on this when she got back to her room. It was fascinating. Maybe if she learned more, she'd be able to have children. She wanted a baby someday.

"Tell me of the orphanage, Mr. Johnson." She requested him. "How do they locate people? How do we stay in business?"

He was utterly relieved at the change of subject.

"This orphanage is under control of the wonderful company, Umbrella. They are the pharmaceutical company, but often make way for charity."

Rebecca nodded. That was lovely. Without Umbrella, she'd never have met Kyle or Lindsey, or Mr. Johnson. "What about you? Where did you come from?" she asked him impertinently.

He laughed. "The beginning of time," he answered wryly.

Rebecca understood that meant she should shut up and mind her own business. So she did. She respected Mr. Johnson more than anyone.

"Another question… Do you think I'll ever be adopted?" Rebecca asked timidly, afraid of the answer.

"Of course you will, Rebecca," he promised. "You're wonderful, smart, and a beautiful girl. There's time for you yet.

"Will Lindsey or Kyle?"

Johnson froze, suddenly feeling a deep pity for the sweet, empathetic little girl. She sat in front of him, hands fisted together, her long auburn hair hiding her tiny face, which was dominated by curious green eyes. "Hey," he smiled at the young girl. "If you three don't, I'll adopt you myself." It was a lie, they were all lies, they were all in danger and under constant surveillance. Any wrong move could kill them all. God how he hated lying to her.

"Do you promise?" she asked in her small voice.

The trust in her voice was destroying him.

He realized how much everyone had been asking of this brilliant little girl. They were enforcing on her the maturity of a grown woman, along with the learning. He felt a wash of guilt flow over him. Umbrella had decided Rebecca should be schooled along with the older children, with harder courses and more studying time. They were robbing her of a childhood in the process. Rebecca had always been quiet by nature, and she was never a complainer.

She would allow them to do this to her, and at the thought, Johnson wanted to adopt the little girl, hold her closely and be her father, take care of her and buy her a puppy and take her to second grade. Instead he was her teacher, her tutor, her friend. He helped her through _math_ problems, walked her through chemistry, took her beyond high school level at age nine.

Johnson felt fully and completely like a heartless bastard.

He saw this little girl as his protégé, his surrogate daughter. He felt her accomplishments as keenly as any parent. He wanted to tuck her into bed and tell her ridiculous stories from an obnoxiously colored hardback book. He didn't want to give her coffee so she could pull all nighters to study.

This little girl, nine years old, was stronger and more adaptable than he'd ever be.

God, he was a bastard.

He thought about all the lies he'd told her, how easily she believed him, how trustful she was of him. She saw the best in everyone, even himself.

She left, and he buried his face in his hands. Fucking Umbrella was going to kill them, one way or the other. Every aspect of their lives was controlled by Umbrella: they'd never be free of them.

He loved this little girl, and everything she had to face was his fault.

He was making her live her life as a bystander, he was robbing her of her childhood, of her carefree innocence. With every tome she devoured, everything she learned, her worldview was expanding, until it'd overcome his by far. Her potential was limitless.

And despite all he was putting this darling little girl through, she stubbornly believed in the best of people. She wasn't becoming cynical. She was the same sweet little girl.

He fervently hoped she'd never grow up.

Johnson stood up and walked towards the window. They were everywhere, constantly watching them. He felt a shiver of dread creep up his spine at the thought. If Johnson disobeyed a single order, it could mean death. For anyone close to either of them. Anyone was fair game.

He wanted to protect them all: Rebecca, Kyle, Lindsey, Lillian and all the other staff members. He wanted to protect everyone, but he was weak.

He was a pawn and he knew it. He couldn't bring himself to be a hero, because he was terrified of risking his own neck. He was a coward and a bastard, and he was causing so many to suffer for his selfishness. But did he truly have a choice, by anyone's standards? He was sick of making excuses.

He decided what he could do. He could get her into any university nearby, where she'd at least have somewhat of an escape. He could arrange testing for her, so she would be able to acquire a scholarship. Umbrella would approve, pay for everything she required, and she would have some kind of freedom. They'd still watch her, of course, but they'd stop watching him. He'd be able to help her.

She was intelligent enough to do this, and he knew with her help he could pull this off.

He knew they had designs for her, but time at a university could help her develop independence, and she could make her own decisions. She'd be able to choose her own lifestyle, how she wanted to live.

She would no longer need to be their pawn.

The question was, what would they do if she rejected them, after they spent so many years cultivating her? They forced her to do so much, in such a sly manner that nobody except he himself knew that anything was going on.

He knew he was probably being watched now, and, with years of practice, was able to seem tired, rather than suspicious. Her life depended on his acting, and he swore he'd protect her. Rebecca was like a daughter to him, and he wouldn't be able to bear it if anything happened to her. Especially if it'd become his fault.


	3. 1990

**Hi guys! So, the story will definitely be starting out a little slow at first. But as we get closer to '98, more momentum will pick up. They do have lives outside of zombies, and I hope I'm giving off an aura of their peace well enough to NOT bore people. I care a lot about this story and I hope everybody likes it.**

**I can't really give a particularly good A/N without giving anything away, SO... **

**Any questions, message/review!**

**Thanks for reading!**

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><p>1990<p>

Billy had never loved any girl before, and the experience was throwing him off completely. He spent all his time with her, spoiled her, and did whatever she wanted. He was completely whipped over Anna.

He loved everything about her. The way she clung to him when she came, the way she blushed when he kissed her in front of other people, the little laugh she made when he embarrassed her, how she wasn't afraid of him, her eyes, her hair, the way she smiled just thinking about him, and how she bit her upper lip in a gesture of distress when she was worried.

They were eighteen years old, old enough to know their minds. Or at least their hearts. He loved her so much, and knew how she felt about him.

He felt guilty that he'd never told her. He promised himself he would soon. Today was their one year anniversary, and he was excited. He felt like a pussy, but he loved her too much to care about anything else.

John commented on it, Charlene despised it, and everyone noticed it. Nobody expected them to even be together, let alone for so long and so happily. He ignored it all. Anna was all he needed. He didn't care about anyone else's opinion.

They were sitting upon a hideously ugly checkered blanket in the park. His grandparents had insisted on the event when his mother came home, and Billy had decided to invite Anna, since it was their anniversary anyway. He was supposed to take her out to dinner, but more time with her was all too appealing.

If anything, Anna had become more and more beautiful every day. Her hair was down to the middle of her back and shone in the midday sun, her smile was white and welcoming, framed by plump, pale lips. Her eyes were enormous, big enough for him to just stare into their depths for hours. Her body had slimmed down considerably as she had grown taller, but her delectable curves were still there, ripe and perfect. His grandparents loved her, his mother liked her…

He still hadn't met her parents yet, but Anna never saw them either. It didn't matter, because it meant when he was with her, he didn't have to worry about her father running in with a shotgun. Billy wasn't exactly the kind of guy every man loved to see his daughter with. With his recent tattoo, his long hair, and a body that came from long hours at his new construction job, Billy knew he looked like a thug.

Anna herself had designed the tattoo Billy had gotten. It read "Mother Love" in thick dark swirls. In fact, most people didn't even know what his tattoo said until he told them. But he didn't mind. He got it for himself and his mother. Other people's opinions didn't matter.

Anna waved a hand in front of his face, laughing at how lost in his thoughts he had become. "Billy, I said do you want a drink?" she asked him. He turned to look at her, and a flush of love overcame him. God, she was perfect. Genuine and sweet, honest and brave, and loving. She loved him so fucking much. Shit. Thinking about it made him wanna wrap her up in his arms and just hold her.

Not one to deny himself, Billy scooped the tall girl into his lap. "No thanks," he answered, preoccupied with his thoughts.

His mother laughed. "You're ridiculous, Billy," she said fondly. "Let the poor girl go."

His grandfather groaned. "Don't be getting too excited now, Billyboy. It's only lunch now."

Marge smacked William. "Shut up, you were the same way, you cranky old coot." She reproached.

He grinned unrepentantly. "Still would if we weren't so goddamn old."

"Speak for yourself," Marge harrumphed. "I'm still young."

"At heart!" William roared with laughter.

Maggie smiled at the love her parents shared, watching them banter back and forth.

Billy was as equally unashamed as his grandfather. Anna however, was laughing with a crimson tint to her cheeks. Billy kept her there for the entire picnic, refusing to let her go.

He finally released her when they were cleaning up, putting away the remainders of their meal and wrapping up the hideous blanket.

"God, where did you even get an ugly thing like that?" he asked his grandmother.

"Shut up, whippersnapper. You don't have a whit of taste, boy-o." his grandfather smacked him on the top of the head, although it wasn't easy with Billy continuing to grow taller.

"Disrespectful little brat," his grandmother mumbled. "I swaddled you in this blanket."

"This is brand new. You haven't cut the price tag off yet." Billy replied drily.

William smacked his grandson again, this time laughing. "We figured it wouldn't be a picnic without the traditional checkered bullshit."

Billy snorted. "You old timers and your traditions."

"You better shut your face, sonny, or I'll have to break out the trusty skillet." Anna scolded him, in such a perfect impression of Marge that everyone burst out laughing.

They made it to the car and Billy squeezed in the back with Anna and the supplies, while the other three sat up front. God he loved her. Just being able to hold her hand was wonderful.

The car moved down the highway home steadily, with everyone chattering and playing with the radio as they cheerfully moved.

Anna was saying something about Charlene, laughing about it. "You know she still hates me for being with you. She never got over you."

Billy shrugged. "She should."

Anna laughed and scooted close to him. They were only a foot apart, but she moved closer to him and rested her head on his shoulder. "I guess it does seem kind of awful that our anniversary is on her birthday."

Billy did feel guilty, but he cared far more about Anna than spoiled Charlene Regan. He held Anna close to him and watched outside the window, suddenly feeling tired. He just wanted to sleep and hold Anna in his arms.

Everything was moving quickly along, and Billy felt peaceful, drowsy.

Until the car behind them smashed into them.

Billy's grandparents owned a small car, old and rickety. The car behind them was an enormous Buick.

Billy felt glass cut into his arm, and suddenly felt an awful sense of relief when he realized his arm was protecting Anna's neck. But with the Buick literally riding on their tail, the car stopped moving forward and nearly stood straight up until being flipped over, upside down in the middle of the road, as the enormous car plowed past them, completely ignoring them.

The car that had been behind the Buick accidentally bashed into them, sending them swerving, the sound of metal meeting concrete the only thing Billy could hear. He tore off his seatbelt and with effort, undid Anna's, falling to the roof of the car, wrapping his body protectively around hers. Billy felt blood, and wasn't sure who's it was. He knew he should be panicking right now, but with the car still moving, there was nothing he could do.

He felt calm. Anna was in his arms. He'd protect her. Nobody was screaming. Was that a good sign? Nobody in his family panicked easily, a trait he'd picked up over the years.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of ping pong, the car halted and was no longer hit. He opened his eyes and felt shaky. He could see almost nothing. But he felt blood, the weight of Anna in his arms, and the ripping pains all throughout his body. It was bad. He knew it was bad. Just not how bad.

Shit. Why couldn't he see? Why couldn't he fucking see?

That was his last thought before he hit unconsciousness, blood pooling over his eyes, blinding him.

Rebecca had been up for three days straight. She had been absorbing as much information as she could lately. Except math. She didn't like math.

She took another gulp of the steaming black coffee beside her and closed the history textbook by her side, switching over to a biology book about herbs and cures. She had a booklet of questions to answer and she had been working feverishly to get it done.

The history book had been about scientific discoveries beginning from the Dark Ages, cures and home grown remedies.

She had her own room now, due to her excessive studying that had always kept others awake. She felt bad about it, but it was necessary. Between PSATs, SATs, GED, Terranova, placement testing, constant strings of IQ testing, and entrance exams, she was swamped.

She was ten years old.

Rebecca did not, unfortunately, have a photographic memory to help her. The past year had passed in an unhappy blur.

Lindsey and Kyle had both been adopted, and after becoming so close and learning so much about friendship and fighting from Kyle, about kindness and puberty from Lindsey, she had sobbed for days after each of them left. The fact that Kyle had left three months after Lindsey hadn't helped.

Johnson had seemed as torn up as her, furious when he'd found out. Rebecca tried to be glad for them. But both of them had disappeared over night, practically. She had gotten no goodbyes from either of them.

Rebecca's only friend now was Mr. Johnson. And he was just as busy as she was, teaching all of his other students, helping her out, studying with her, testing with her, finding contacts for her and ways to get her testing, they were both at their wits end.

Rebecca's school year was all year. She studied fifty different texts a year, which Mr. Johnson got for her. She was sponsored by Umbrella, so the smarter she was, the more free things she got. Unfortunately that meant she had to study more. It was a never ending cycle and Rebecca was constantly falling asleep on her textbooks and papers, pen in hand.

She was constantly covered in ink, with imprints across her cheek from the books she fell asleep on.

Rebecca was worn out. The last time she'd ever done anything for herself was never. She was constantly doing as she was told, constantly working towards a goal that seemed to only get farther away, and she was losing her friends, her sleep, and her sanity.

She was miserable, always.

Not only was the beginning of puberty hitting her, so was caffeine addiction, and her stress. She'd talked to Miss Lily and she hadn't been surprised. She said Rebecca'd probably get her period soon. She was young, but it wasn't unheard of.

Rebecca had been pissed when she found out. Another thing to worry about.

She didn't need the additional stress piled on top of her. She was close to explosion as it was.

Other children were jealous of Rebecca. Why did she get to drink coffee? Why did she get to stay up all night? How come she had her own room? Why did she never have to go to class?

They didn't understand how awful it was.

Sometimes, Rebecca forgot she was ten. She would think that she was twenty, an adult, having a conversation with her peers rather than her superiors. Most adults were in fact, intimidated by her, she knew. She was smarter than them. She knew it, they knew it, and they didn't want to admit it.

Rebecca, annoyed by her distracting thoughts, slammed her books shut and shuffled to her bed, shutting off her lamp. It felt so good to be in her bed, actually sleeping for the first time in about two weeks. She felt herself drifting off…

Until she felt something between her legs.

Rebecca had never experienced this before, but with a hiss of anger, understood what it was. Right when she had decided she didn't want it, her period had come.

She ripped off her underwear and replaced it with a clean pair, sticking a few tissues between her skin and cloth. Gosh, she was angry. She left her dirty clothing right there on the floor, she'd do laundry later. She was too mad and exhausted to bother with anything right now.

She was ready to sleep, to drift away into another, more peaceful world…

Billy woke up when he felt medics prying at his arms. He snarled at them, trying to get to Anna. But he released her, realizing they could help her. "Is everyone okay?" he asked, unemotional, his voice flat and face expressionless.

Anna was taken from the car, with loud noises and screaming and the irritating click of photos being taken. Next, they helped Billy out. He could see now, but felt dried blood caked across his face, making blinking a difficult process.

The paramedic looked at him kindly. "Come in," he helped Billy up into the ambulance. "They're all unconscious… I really don't know."

"You're lying."

The guy bit his lip. "The woman looks fine, like you. The older ones are bad, real bad."

Billy felt terror fill his heart like no other. "They're hurt? What about the blonde girl?"

The man looked at Billy, his brown eyes sorrowful. "She died almost immediately."

All of Billy's fear left his heart.

So did everything else.

The next day, he and his mother were discharged from the hospital. The other three were gone.

Billy signed up for the Marines the next day.

He didn't go to the funeral the day after that, but instead waited until everyone had left, watching from a distance, and gave her his own goodbye.

The funeral had been heartbreaking, an outside event in the graveyard, with people crying and a couple who looked like her parents stiffly watching. He felt rage fill his heart at the sight.

Then regret. He was a selfish bastard: why hadn't he gone? His grandparents were cremated in a silent, private ceremony the same day, and he had gone. But this was too much for Billy.

He couldn't bear to watch others crying for the girl he loved. It didn't seem right; as if they hadn't known her well enough. As if their tears were superficial. They didn't care about her life: only now that she was gone did they care.

Billy didn't bother to wear a suit when he saw her, as he knelt by the shallow grave, six feet between them. He laid down on the freshly turned earth and pressed his into the dirt, the sun beating on his back.

He thought it was curious that it wasn't raining outside. It was any other day, a beautiful summer afternoon.

He listened for her heartbeat in the earth, hoping a mistake had been made, willing to dig through those six feet with his bare hands if he got any sign from her. But the sign never came. Billy didn't cry: he just laid there with his head at her tombstone and pretended she was in his arms, that the heat radiating from the dirt was hers. She wasn't gone: she was right underneath him, waiting for him. He had promised he'd never leave her, that he didn't need anyone else.

He didn't.

But belatedly, with his cheek against her grave, he realized something deathly important, something that almost broke him down right then and there. The knowledge weighed on him heavily, as a guilt that he'd ever drop in all of his life. It was just too much to bear, the weight.

He had never told her he loved her.

Rebecca was woken up a few scant hours later by Miss Lily, who opened her black curtains. "You're gonna be late for the SATs," she warned Rebecca. Then, noticing Rebecca's underwear on the floor sighed. "I have a pad, just in case. I'll buy you some. It's gonna be really shitty from here on out," she said, speaking to Rebecca as if she were an equal, rather than a pathetic little orphan.

Just two years ago, Rebecca was treated like the child she was, with small words and simplicity. Now, she had a more complex vocabulary than most college students, more maturity than people three times her age, and a quiet sense of self that she hoped she'd never lose.

She dragged herself up, groping for the enormous mug of coffee Miss Lily always brought and drank it down, spilling some on her shirt. She didn't care. "Just take me in my pjs," she said groggily, going to brush her teeth. Miss Lily came in and showed her where to place the pad on her underwear and Rebecca nodded. "I'm ready." She yawned, the light flooding in from the window hurting her eyes.

Miss Lily was like a sweet mother hen. Rebecca liked how she fussed over her. Nobody else did anymore. Sometimes she really hated being so smart. It hadn't really given her anything.

She understood the world now, had a comprehension of both the biological, theological, and psychological components of life, but she'd have found it eventually, on her own, with time and preparation.

She had been shoved into this.

Rebecca's daytime was scheduled. She was ferried about by Miss Lily, her appointments scheduled by Mr. Johnson, and her nights spent with the instant coffeemaker plugged in. She had a raging caffeine addiction, a quiet disposition, and a resignation to life that belonged to someone four times her age.

Rebecca had gotten her hair cut the other day, and she loved it. She had just told the woman to leave an inch of hair. Her head was free; she didn't need to do anything to her hair anymore except wash it. This was the best idea she'd ever had, especially for her nighttime study sessions.

It was the first decision she had made for herself, and it was a good choice.

Maybe now she'd be able to muddle her way from the confusion of having one foot in childhood and the other in adulthood.


	4. 1991

**Author's Note:**

**So, Rebecca is a genius, and poor Billy had his girlfriend die in his arms. I've been trying to explain where his character comes from. In the beginning of RE0, he's rude and cynical, and very flirtatious, but as the story goes on, he really comes to care for Rebecca. I've been thinking, and WHY would Billy want to fight his way through, and repeatedly save Rebecca, if he thought he was going to die? So I've come up with my own explanations for it, as well as his past. With Rebecca, I took the fact that she's eighteen and graduated early from her university, and turned it into a story.**

**Other characters **_**will**_** be making an appearance later, as well as major plot points from the games. Just be patient and read on :D**

**Reviews are appreciated, good and bad. Thanks to my lovely reviewers, you guys are too nice :)**

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><p>1991<p>

Billy had finished his basic training. He, however, wasn't needed quite yet apparently, and was on an extended vacation in his own goddamn house, the very place he had been trying to escape.

His mother was gone on another business trip. Billy had all the time and money in the world. John had invited him to a fucking party.

Billy felt so isolated, so far away from the world of college parties and drunken antics. The only reason he was fucking here was because he had nothing better to do. And he was regretting the decision more and more every minute that the music throbbed against his ears and drunken girls waved their tits around like it was some kind of show. He was pissed, he was tired, and he wanted a bottle and a shot glass, in the comfort of his own fucking home.

He remembered the last party like this. It had been Charlene Regan's sixteenth birthday. She had been on his dick then and he'd be damned if she didn't end up trying to hunt him down tonight.

This time around, he couldn't make an escape with Anna. He couldn't relive the flush of meeting her for the first time, or realizing that she was so much more than just another teenage girl.

Billy was used to be chased after by girls. He attracted them with his quietness, his sarcasm, his stature. But he could scare them away just as easily.

Anna hadn't been scared of him. But she'd never gotten on his nerves, tried to tease him and mock him and show off to him.

Christ, thinking about her, in any way, nearly killed him. It was so fucking hard to just go on with life. He knew he sounded like an idiot, a depressed and love struck one at that, but he couldn't let go.

It was unhealthy, it was wrong, it was too late, and it was his whole goddamn fault for inviting her on the fucking picnic. If he hadn't been such a little shithead, constantly needing her, she'd be alive and at this piece of shit party with him right now. He frowned, his expression black, and any partygoers nearby immediately left his vicinity. He didn't realize how frightening he looked, with his brows furrowed and his eyes dark with anger.

He massaged his temples and fought the urge to punch a wall. The noise was worse than the quiet of his thoughts. He just wanted to fucking sleep. If he was asleep, he could dream of her. Sleeping was his favorite thing to do, although it was rarely accomplished. It usually took a fifth of whiskey to manage it.

Billy lost himself in his thoughts, not paying attention to anything in particular, and had just decided to leave, when as he had fucking predicted, Charlene came prancing over to him, in a skimpy outfit with the stench of cheap beer on her.

She was braver than she'd been three years ago. She strode up and rubbed herself right up against him, her tight little body shown off artfully in her tissue-thin blouse and shorts that showed off her ass crack

She was everything Anna hadn't been. He felt another dull pang in his stomach.

Pissed, annoyed, irritated, and fucking sick of her shit, Billy dragged Charlene up to her room. Why the fuck had John invited him if it was at Charlene's house. Shit. He hadn't realized she was still set on bothering him. All he fucking wanted was to not be alone, but he hadn't counted on this shit.

"So finally gonna take up on my offer?" she flirted drunkenly. Billy was not amused. He crossed his arms in irritation.

"What the _hell_ do you want with me?" he demanded of her, hoping for a straight answer out of her, for fucking once.

"I love that tattoo, where'd you get it," she tried to distract him. He felt another pang of fury as he thought of Anna.

He gazed at her with something akin to hatred. "Answer the question."

She was short, and thin, with an ass barely covered by shorts. She was a shallow, annoying bitch. She was hot by any standards, and by every standard she was a slut. "Billly," she elongated his name with her whiny voice. "Don't you wanna play with me?" She winked sloppily.

Christ, was she six? Billy was not amused, not aroused, and not in the mood for her drunken bullshit.

She leaned up, using his crossed arms as leverage, and planted an alcohol-reeking kiss on his bottom lip, while the other hand sank below and grabbed onto his junk.

Anger exploded in Billy's eyes. She wanted him? Well he'd show that bitch what she was asking for. She was going to get what she wanted like the spoiled rotten little brat she was.

In one fluid movement, Billy shoved her down onto the bed. She bounced backwards with a happy squeal. That almost killed any arousal he had, right then. It was difficult to stay hard when a woman acted like a twelve year old.

He took off his pants. Billy didn't usually wear boxers, and he supposed in times like these it was more convenient anyway. She looked at him, her eyes widening, mistaking his roughness with her for barely controlled lust. Victory was in her eyes, and she mistook the disgust in his eyes for his desire for her.

He kept his shirt on as he tore off her skimpy clothing. Matching bra and panty set. So she'd figured she was getting laid tonight. Bitch. He'd bet if he wasn't with her right now, she'd find someone else to mind fuck and irritate.

He stared at her naked body intrusively, not intending to take off his shirt at any point. She could reveal her whole body to him, but he sure as hell wasn't going to extend the fucking courtesy to her.

He knew she was probably intimidated by now. He was a big guy and it showed. He knew his stature was frightening, at least in his arousal. And he was more ripped than ever, with training for the Marines. His hair was growing long, and although he didn't know it, his dark blue eyes were filled with savagery.

He didn't bother to tenderly explore her body, as he had with Anna, or to gently arouse her, too slowly drive her close to the edge before he finished her. Instead, he jammed a finger inside her, testing the wetness, and when he wasn't enough, spent a moment playing with her roughly, just enough to make his entrance easier. She moaned and moved about in pleasure, but Billy was pissed, and not in the mood to hear her rutting like a dog in heat. She tried to grab his face, but he pushed her away.

Billy grabbed her wrists and held them together, and with the other hand, spread her legs as wide as they would go before viciously entering her with a force that made her buck and beg for more of him. He listened to her pleas and slammed himself in and out of her in savage rhythm, his force arousing her unintentionally, and his dark power startling her.

She moaned and writhed and bucked until finally, she came, relaxing completely.

But Billy, ever the master of self-control, wasn't done. He continued until she had come once more, before finding his own release.

He exited her, an instant before her finished, his seed spraying across her body in a final gesture of contempt. He wasn't about to risk knocking her up. God, he couldn't imagine anything worse than being stuck with her, having a kid with her.

He put on his pants and heard Charlene's surprised protest. "Where are you going?" she asked, insecurity tinting her voice. Had she assumed he'd fucking stay with her?

Billy turned to her again, feebly trying to cover herself with the blanket. "Home." He answered curtly.

"Then why—"

He smiled bitterly. "Figured you'd deserved it after waiting for so long." he knew it was cruel. But he couldn't bring himself to care. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have touched her, would've been kind while rejecting her with finality. But fuck that. He was sick of being a fucking nice guy. It got him nowhere.

He walked out the door to his car, and turned on the radio, relieved. He'd been celibate since the incident, and he figured Charlene had been useful for at least one thing before he finished with her.

"Billy, that's horrible!" someone reprimanded him.

He jumped, in hope and terror. He turned about, shifting in his seat, hoping for another sound, for the person around him to say something else, anything else.

He sincerely hoped someone was there.

Because if not, Anna's voice had just spoken to him.

Rebecca was on full scholarship. She was a college girl now. Free to party and meet boys.

She snorted. She had her own dorm room because of her horrible studying habits. She'd be here for the next four years, and then onto whatever was next in the world. Career? Normal life? More school?

Mr. Johnson walked her to her dorm, carrying her baggage. Rebecca had come the day before as well to bring all of her books and studying utensils. Most importantly, she had her coffee maker.

Mr. Johnson said she was stunting her growth. She figured she'd be short anyway, so what did it matter? She needed it for her habits. It was her baby, her love, and the one thing she could count on definitely.

Rebecca was wearing her favorite outfit. It was pink shorts and a white tank top, with her favorite pink cardigan and her brand new training bra. Mr. Johnson said that Umbrella had paid for everything. She had lots of new clothes, new books, new supplies, sheets for her bed, and a regular check from them for miscellaneous. The only thing she refused to replace was her trusty coffee maker. This little guy had seen her through too much for her to want a new, fancier one. She trusted her coffee maker with her education. It was very important to her, and she wouldn't tempt fate by getting rid of a lucky item.

Every professor had received a phone call from Mr. Johnson or Miss Lily, explaining the situation. This way, embarrassment could be avoided for her when she started her classes. It was bad enough that she was young, but she was also small. She knew she'd probably get a lot of crap from other students. But Rebecca didn't care. Mr. Johnson said this was a good decision and she believed him.

On her way back to the car to grab her last bag, Rebecca accidentally crashed into a tall boy with reddish brown hair and a charming smile. "You okay sweetie?" he asked her kindly.

Rebecca remembered that nobody knew who she was here. She wasn't a genius; she was probably someone's kid sister. "I'm fine, thank you," she said shyly.

He smiled at her. "Are you someone's little sister?"

She felt a smirk cross her face. She was proud. "No."

He looked surprised. "Are you someone's cousin?"

"No. This is my new school," she answered simply.

The boy burst into laughter. "Really?" he asked her condescendingly.

Rebecca decided right then she'd rather be considered a freak than a kid.

"Rebecca!" Mr. Johnson called. "Do you have your entire luggage?"

"I'm getting the last bag now!" she called back, deciding to ignore the boy. "Can you plug in the coffee maker?"

"Rebecca, you're not going to pull another all nighter on your first day. You should get some sleep tonight." He scolded, mumbling about how she stunted her growth. "I am not going to aide your obsessive studying."

"I have to! Please?"

Rebecca didn't see the young man's jaws drop. He followed her as she walked down the hall, looking as out of place as a penguin in the jungle. "So you're a whiz kid?" he asked curiously.

She looked at the tall boy and shrugged. "I guess." He was interested in her, she figured. She guessed she was interesting enough. But interesting was often synonymous with weird. She didn't really like being interesting.

He stopped. "Well, I don't live on campus, but you'll probably be seeing me pretty often. I'm Chris Redfield."

Rebecca stopped. "I'm Rebecca Chambers. Nice to meet you." She stuck out her small hand, which he shook, his gigantic hand enveloping hers. "Where do you live?"

"With my sister, Claire, about ten minutes away from here."

Rebecca's eyes widened. "You have a sister?"

He smiled. "Yes, she's twelve years old. How old are you?"

"I'm eleven," she admitted shyly.

He looked stunned. "That's pretty phenomenal." He said as he followed her to Mr. Johnson's car. She struggled to pull the last bag, and Chris picked it up for her, asking her all sorts of questions. "So, was that your dad?"

She stiffened. "I don't have a dad." She replied curtly. "Thank you for helping me."

Changing the subject: "What's your major, Rebecca?" he asked self consciously, as if feeling awkward asking a child about such a serious decision.

"Biochemistry," she answered. "You?"

He looked stunned. "Uh, undecided," he confessed, feeling somewhat inadequate. "I might just join the Air Force before I finish school."

Rebecca laughed at him. "I'd be too scared to fly a plane," she admitted. "So high up, completely in your own control."

"You sound like the exact opposite of Claire," He smiled kindly at her. "Maybe you'd like to meet my sister sometime?" he asked in a friendly tone.

Rebecca looked about, wide eyed. Then, hesitantly: "I'd like that, Chris." She confessed. "I don't have any friends."

He mussed her short hair with his free hand. "I'll be your friend, Rebecca. And I bet Claire will be too." He assured her with a confidence belonging to a man who fully understood who he was. Rebecca felt a twinge of envy.

She led him into her dorm room. "Mr. Johnson, this is my new friend Chris!" she announced. "He says me and his sister can be friends. She's twelve."

Johnson shot a grateful look at the tall boy. "Very nice to meet you, Chris, I'm Mr. Johnson, Rebecca's tutor."

Chris set down Rebecca's bag and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Rebecca rushed over to the coffee maker and drank the beautiful ambrosia she loved so much. "You're the best, Mr. Johnson." She wrapped her arms around his waist.

Johnson patted Rebecca's head with a fondness he never showed anyone else. "I'll miss you, Rebecca," he murmured to his surrogate daughter. "So much…"

After assuring him that Rebecca was in capable hands, Chris watched Johnson leave through the window. He turned to help the girl put her sheets on her bed, feeling very much like he did with Claire.

"So tell me about yourself, Rebecca." He invited, watching her put away her things with a sense for organization that he himself lacked. She was a neat little girl, and very independent, he noticed, as she put all of her textbooks in the tiny bookcase the school provided. He read their titles and admitted to himself that he'd probably never understand half of what those texts read.

She shrugged, her little pink shoulder moving up. He smiled. She was a cute kid. "I lived in an orphanage. Mr. Johnson was my tutor. Besides being smart, I don't have anything fascinating to tell."

Chris empathized with her. "You know, me and Claire are too. Our parents a while ago."

Rebecca stopped and looked at him, surprised that something as normal seeming as Chris could have something so terrible happen to him. He had known and loved his parents: she had never met hers. His loss was far more complete than hers, for he had mourned and taken care of a sister just her age.

"I guess tragedy is everywhere." She mused quietly, putting her clothes away in drawers.

Chris noticed how plain all of her clothes were. Aside from the pink outfit she was wearing now, most of her clothes were just plain shirts and jeans, with sweatshirts and jackets hung up in the closet. It was nothing like Claire, who, up until recently, insisted on girly clothing with logos decorating them.

As Claire grew older, he found he had more in common with his young sister. She was becoming interested in motorcycles and other outdoorsy things, rather than her pre-pubescent obsession with being a princess or a fairy.

Rebecca seemed more reserved than his sister, who attacked both sides of the spectrum with eagerness. She owned blue jeans, at least twenty pairs of the same one, pajamas, and plain gray, green and light pink shirts. It seemed her interest really was in her studies. He'd never come across a kid like her.

"So, how are you gonna be eating?"

She paused. "Eating?"

He laughed at her. "Can you cook? Or will you be living off whatever stays good in the mini fridge?"

"I guess I thought I'd be eating at the cafeteria." She said slowly.

He nodded. "It can be noisy in there. Here, tell you what. If you ever get sick of eating here, give me a call and you can have dinner with me and Claire sometime." He grinned at her, friendly as ever.

She paused. She could tell his offer was genuine. But she still felt shy. "You sure I wouldn't be intruding?" she asked him quietly, wondering if she'd be imposing on him with her picky eating.

He laughed. "You don't look like you'd be hard to feed," he joked. "You're tiny!"

She snorted. "Blame the coffee. That way I can pretend it's not my fault I'm short."

He laughed at her openly, and shook her head. "It was nice to meet you, Rebecca. I've got to go get home to see Claire, but here, take my number. Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow night?" he wrote the number down on a napkin and placed it on her desk. "I'd offer you tonight but I should probably clean and go grocery shopping first."

She smiled at him, big and genuine, and agreed eagerly.

Rebecca had made a friend.


	5. 1992

**Author's Note:**

**Poor Rebecca. Between puberty and school and life and Umbrella and the orphanage, she's gonna have a rough time of it. **

**Billy's such an asshole! It even shocks me. But he's trying, I promise! He's just a little fucked up. He's REALLY having a rough time of it.**

**They're tortured souls, what can I say? It sucks that after all their normal hell, they have to go through the events in RE0. But hey, maybe normal people wouldn't be tough enough to deal with zombies and leeches and Spencer and the T-virus. **

**Another year, my friends! We've gone through the July 24 of 1988, 1989, 1990, 1991, and now for the events of July 24, 1992! Woooo what's happening.**

**Thanks to my lovely reviews, yingyangirl, and especially pinkalmonds, for her detail and kindness, and helpful tips.:D**

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><p>1992<p>

Billy smashed his fist into the wall. He was a fucking idiot. He'd tried therapy, ignoring it, throwing himself into work, hoping for something, anything to distract him.

He couldn't stand hearing her voice in his head, all the fucking time. He'd been sent out to handle crisis with Mexico, Japan, and even China, as a fucking foot soldier, useless. But he still couldn't drop it. He couldn't forget her. Christ, he tried. He couldn't understand why.

He was fucking sick of this shit, unable to forget about her.

God, she haunted him.

He hadn't gone to her funeral. He regretted it, now that he wasn't insane with grief. He'd never even met her fucking parents. He'd loved her more than anyone and he'd never met her mother, never been subtly threatened by her father. Nothing had been normal about their relationship, fucking ever.

Billy hadn't been on his best behavior. He'd fucked girls, any who'd have him. He'd honed his skills in the bedroom with plenty of practice and willing girls. He'd picked up smoking, drinking, and basically hiding in his fucking room like a pansy. Whenever he wasn't on duty, he was home, with a bottle of cheap vodka and her voice running through his head, lecturing him as she would've done in life.

She fucking spoke to him. She reprimanded him, argued with his decisions, warned him about shit. Christ it was like having a talking conscience, a psychic one.

He was psychotic. He thought about her every day, every fucking day. Whenever he had sex, when he came it was all he could do to keep from moaning her name when he finished. She was dead, goddamnit. She wasn't coming back, no matter how hard he wished it.

It was maybe a good thing, then. He was a changed man. His former arrogance and assholery had changed into something more intense. He was an angry guy, intimidating, frightening. He had been moving up in the ranks of the Marines quickly, because he was dedicated, devoted, single minded. Because anything was better than the bittersweet torture of listening to her speak.

Jesus Christ, he _needed_ her to be his conscience, the way he acted. He fucked women and left. He hadn't slept in a woman's arms since she died. He was a bastard. A cold hearted bastard.

He had girls almost every night. He never bothered to do it himself anymore. He hadn't whacked it since she died. For the first year, he'd been celibate. Then after fucking Charlene, he decided he could use women, easily. They could do his job for him.

Doing it alone would feel unbearably lonely.

"You're such a jerk, Billy." He heard a voice in his head sigh. "I suppose it's my fault."

He ignored the ramblings in his head. Maybe then they'd go away. He took a gulp from the bottle, hoping it'd act as an anesthetic.

While ignoring it, he secretly hoped the voice would start bitching again. Anything to hear her voice. Even if it meant he was crazy. God, what did he want? He was contradicting himself.

He finished the bottle, disappointed by the silence.

When he was the loneliest, he slept in his grandparent's bed, like a little kid scared of a storm. He didn't cry. He hadn't in years. He just felt dull, empty, but heavy. His whole fucking life was a contradiction now. He couldn't make his mind up about anything.

He cuddled up in the bed, waiting for the voice to coo him to sleep. He forced himself to stay awake until she gave in.

"Alright, Billy," Anna sighed in his head. He rolled over with contentment, waiting patiently for more. He was a sick asshole. "You always do get what you want, you spoiled bastard. You know I love you, Billy. So much. Please stop hurting, Billy, I hate to see you like this."

He thought back: "No, talk about happy things," he commanded her. He didn't need her to be as fucked up as he was. He never wished to cause her distress, in any way.

He could almost see her rolling her eyes. God, he missed her. "It's not healthy, Billy."

"You're the one in my head. If it's not healthy, get out." he bluffed.

He heard resignation in her voice when she began. "The day I realized I was in love with you was April… an April morning. You stopped by before work and woke me up, just because. I remember how great it felt to wake up in your arms, even though I pretended to be annoyed. I felt this sort of swelling feeling in my heart, just looking at you, Billy, and I realized that I loved you more than any words could describe…" she trailed off as Billy fell asleep gently, his masculinity and mass belying the feelings beneath the surface.

"I love you Billy… I'm so sorry I'm doing this to you…"

Billy, fast asleep, wrapped in his grandparents sheets, unknowingly dripped tears onto the pillow. One, two, three, dripping down his cheeks, as his memories reshaped into his dreams, where he could pretend that everything was as it once had been.

Rebecca had spent the night at the Redfield house with Claire and Chris. Like he had predicted, Chris had indeed dropped out of school, joining the Air Force, which had done a lot to ease their finances.

Claire and Rebecca often spent time together. They had become nearly inseparable, doing everything together, except school.

At thirteen, Claire was in middle school. Although Rebecca was the genius, Claire was the adventurous one that often got them into trouble, and allowed them to have more fun. At school, nobody chastised Rebecca, or worried about her. Her grades were excellent, so she continued to get her checks from Umbrella, and phone calls from Mr. Johnson. Chris was the main authority figure in her life. He scolded her when she stayed up late, made her eat vegetables, and kept an eye on her in general, treating her like his own sister. She was incredibly grateful for his hospitality, his kindness, and his friendship. The two Redfields were the most important people in her life.

Since she had lost Lindsey and Kyle, she cherished these two more than anything.

Claire even spent time at Rebecca's dorm, although whenever she didn't have courses, she spent all her time at the Redfield's house, taking blessed breaks from studying. She had never been able to do that before.

"Guys, get up!" Chris yelled to them. "I'm going to work, so you better get your asses up!"

Rebecca groaned and padded downstairs for her coffee. Chris rolled his eyes. "You're stunting your growth," he commented.

"So I've heard," she answered wryly. Claire stumbled down the steps and rubbed her eyes. "Did you get milk?"

"No, eat oatmeal."

"Chriiiss…."

"It's better for you, kiddo. I'll get some tonight, okay? Rebecca, you staying the night?"

She swallowed quickly, burning her throat. "Probably. Me and Claire might go back to my dorm so I can pick up some stuff."

He nodded. "Be careful. See you later, you two." And with that, Chris was gone.

Rebecca looked at the door that had just closed. "You're so lucky to have a big brother like him."

"What makes you say that? Got a crush on him?" Claire teased her.

Rebecca went red. "No!" she denied. "I just mean he's always here for us. I like that about him. I'm not even his sister and he's so nice to me."

Claire looked thoughtful. "Well, he's kind of annoying and bossy, but you're right. He was always there when our parents died. He was mean to me before that. Now we're really close."

Rebecca nodded. "When I met him, he was so nice to me. Nobody's ever been so kind to me, just because. People always have motives around me. Except you guys."

"Hey, best friends don't need motives," Claire shrugged with a grin. "What do you need to get at your dorm?"

"A change of clothes." Rebecca answered. She currently had no courses. One had ended last week, and the next would start in two more weeks. She felt more relaxed than ever before. She had never had a whole three weeks to do nothing before, and it was wonderful.

Claire shrugged. "Just wear mine. Hey, do you wanna go to the park?"

Rebecca nodded. "Sure," she answered, going upstairs to change. Claire was taller than her, but not thicker than her, so all of her clothes fit her frame, but then her shirt went past her butt and the shorts went to her knees. It was so odd looking. Rebecca gained endless amusement from it.

Claire grinned as Rebecca came back down.

Rebecca looked at herself in the mirror hopelessly. She was ninety pounds, five feet tall, and her curves were near nonexistent. She was a 32A, and although she had a tiny waist, it was due to her naturally slender body, not any gifts of womanliness.

Claire however, wore a B cup, and had the biggest butt Rebecca had ever seen. It made her incredibly envious of her friend. Claire was beautiful, and Rebecca knew it. She had enormous blue eyes and her brown hair glowed red with light. She was slender and strong, and as Chris progressed in his career with the Air Force, he taught them cool tricks: like how to punch and kick and flip. Claire and Rebecca practiced on each other, although Claire was definitely better at it.

Rebecca wasn't as fast, or strong, or as willing to fight as Claire. But Chris had let them use a gun in the backyard to shot at targets. Rebecca had great aim, so she excelled at this.

The two set off, basking in the summer sun on their way to the park. But the second they got there, Claire pulled on Rebecca's arm. "Look, I know those two!" she said excitedly. "That's Eric and Jacob, I know them from school." She dragged Rebecca over.

One of them, the taller one, smiled. "Claire!" he grinned at her. The other one smiled at Rebecca shyly, and she returned his smile.

"Who's your friend?" he asked.

Claire introduced her with a friendly ease Rebecca wished she had. "This is Rebecca. Rebecca, this is Eric," she gestured at the taller boy. "And Jacob."

Eric grinned at her, but seemed more preoccupied with talking to Claire. Jacob smiled at her awkwardly. "Nice to meet you," he said briefly.

She nodded gratefully at him: she was cripplingly shy. "You too." She answered quietly.

Trying to make conversation, he desperately latched on to anything. "So… nice weather, right?" he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

Rebecca eyed him before she burst into laughter. "The _weather_?" she questioned incredulously, giggling. "Couldn't you think of anything else but the weather?" What a cliché.

He shook his head, grinning shamefully. "No… I really couldn't." he laughed. "You try to think of something!"

She searched her mind. "Uh, your hair is longer than mine," she pointed out.

Jacob reached up and felt his long, curly mane of dark hair with a self conscious laugh. "I guess I look like a poodle."

"You _guess_?" Rebecca teased. It was nice speaking to someone shyer than she. It was rare to meet someone like that, and refreshing to be able to be the instigator in a situation. She felt her confidence boost immediately.

He grinned. "Hey, don't talk to me about hair. You're close to bald," he teased back.

She pretended offense. "That's rude. What if I cried right here. That's insulting. How would you handle a crying girl?"

He smiled, and Rebecca thought he looked cute like that, a smirk plastered across his face. "You wouldn't dare cry," he predicted.

"And why not?" she mocked, hands on her hips. "Do I look too tough for that?"

He snorted. "Definitely not."

"Then why?" she teased, not at all offended. She knew she wasn't tough looking by any standards.

"Because you know you don't _look_ tough. You can't _act_ like a baby, too!" he said knowledgably.

She opened her mouth, unable to think of a response. "That's so rude!" she protested.

He nodded. "But it's true," he answered, preoccupied.

Jacob was all too aware of how not babyish Rebecca looked. Growing up, although she was small, she was pretty, with a gentle smile and kind disposition.

Rebecca had her first admirer.

Billy woke up, feeling strangely peaceful. He hadn't felt this way in a long time. He stretched out luxuriously, smiling to himself.

"Were you giving me those dreams?" he asked aloud, thinking of the wonder montage of memories that had been his dream. Things he had begun to forget, like the shadows her lashes cast upon her cheeks in the midday sun, had been vividly painted in his dreams, so he fully remembered everything. God, he loved her. It was the little things.

"Well, I knew you wouldn't be able to do it yourself," Anna replied primly, and he smothered a laugh of happiness at her words. He'd been honing his ability to actually speak to her, instead of just listening.

"God, I love you. I always did." Billy replied. Right now, he didn't feel upset, or sad, or even angry. It was like having her with him. He didn't mind if he was insane. Speaking to her was a gift.

The voice was sad when she replied. "I know, Billy. I know you're guilty for never saying it. But I knew."

At her words, a small measure of guilt was assuaged from his chest. He remembered her, and the way she blinked at him when he surprised her, or raised both her eyebrows when he was being an ass. He remembered how long and soft her hair had felt, spread across his chest, shining like gold.

"Billy, go out and do something. I'm sick of you moping around the house."

He snorted. "And what do you want me to do, sweetheart?" he asked dryly.

"I don't care. Anything. Go grocery shopping if you're desperate. Which you are. There's nothing but alcohol in your fridge. I doubt your mother would approve."

"She's long gone. She won't be back until I'm gone." Billy scoffed, having no desire to move from the bed.

"You're not even twenty one. I have no idea how you manage to get all of your drinks." Anna scolded him.

He rolled his eyes. "You know I always get my way, Anna," he grinned, reminding her.

"Of course I do. You're a bastard, Billy. Now get up and make a home cooked meal. I'll help you."

Billy groaned. "Is this part of your plan to civilize me?"

"Yes. I taught you piano, now I'm teaching you to cook. Next on my list will be cleaning and getting you to quit smoking."

He shrugged. "I'll quit for you. Cleaning, I can handle. But I have no luck with the kitchen."

"I know! Go get a haircut. You look like a criminal."

Billy smirked. "I'll just grab a pair of scissors and do it myself," he shrugged and got up.

"Just kidding, don't do it!" Anna shouted. He laughed out loud at that.

Then he realized he really was insane. He was talking to Anna. How could this be real? How was this anything beyond his imagination? Maybe the accident had really pushed him off the deep end.

He couldn't bear it that was true. Despite his rough exterior, he was a crazy, sappy man on the inside and he couldn't stand it. He needed to be strong.

He ignored Anna and took the pair of scissors in the bathroom, slicing his hair. He'd probably have to shave it before going back to the Marines anyway. She groaned and whined inside of his head.

She had to be real. Her opinions were the same as they had ever been, disagreeing with him and arguing with him and bossing him around. How could it not be real?

Had he simply memorized every pattern of her personality? Or was something else, more mysterious, enigmatic occurring within his mind?

Or again, maybe he was insane.

Most people wouldn't be surprised. Maybe he should get himself checked out, go to some shrink or something.

It wouldn't hurt. Anna hadn't left yet, and he doubted she would if he went to a doctor. She'd probably get offended though. He shrugged. He'd pissed her off before. But he needed to know if he was clinging to her or if she was to him.

All he wanted to know was the truth.

Claire and Rebecca waved goodbye to the two boys, walking back towards Claire's house. As soon as they were out of earshot, she rounded on Rebecca, a delighted smirk on her face. "He totally likes you!" Claire announced gleefully.

Rebecca went red. "No, we were _just_ talking Claire!" she blushed.

Claire shook her head knowingly. "He thinks you're cute!"

Her face felt flaming hot. She turned away from Claire, flushing all over her face. Claire laughed at her discomfort. "He's cute!" she teased.

Rebecca shook her head, with an embarrassed laugh. "What does that have to do with me?"

Claire sighed. "So! He's cute!"

"Have you ever kissed a boy?" Rebecca asked curiously, wondering why Claire was so set on her idea.

Claire shrugged. "Once."

"What was it like?" Rebecca asked, eyes wide.

"It was kind of slobbery," Claire admitted with a mischievous grin. "It's not like when I kiss Chris good night, that's for sure. It was kind of gross."

"I've never kissed anyone," Rebecca confessed. "Mr. Johnson, my tutor, wasn't real overly affectionate all the time."

"You've never even kissed anybody good night?" Claire asked, surprised. She once had parents to love her and tell her stories at night.

Rebecca had always been tucked in by an impartial staff member, until she was about nine, when she started doing her all nighters. She shrugged, a little sadly. "Nobody."

Claire looked decisive. "Then I guess you can kiss Jacob!" she was gleeful.

Rebecca shrugged again. "I don't think I'd know how."

Claire looked thoughtful. "When I kiss Chris, I make my lips all hard and puckered and when I stop, his cheek makes a smacking noise. When I kissed a boy, my lips stayed soft. So I don't know, really." She confessed.

"If you don't like it, why do you want me to do it?" Rebecca demanded indignantly.

Claire rolled her eyes. "You can't knock it before you try it," she insisted.

Rebecca groaned. "No way!"

Rebecca was frightened. She had never kissed anyone before. She didn't know how to do it properly, and how embarrassing would it be if she tried to kiss someone and she did it wrong? She was used to knowing things, to being the smart one or wise one. Being wrong scared her. The unknown scared her.

She was frightened to try new things because she was terrified of messing up, of making a mistake, of being wrong and embarrassing herself. She was reserved by nature, and risk taking was _not_ one of her most prominent personality traits.

She listened to Claire, nodding and 'mhm'ing at appropriate points, but in reality, she was thinking, feeling a pit of dread in her stomach. She wasn't ready to grow up. She was scared already, even in the comfort of Claire's presence.

She wasn't used to feeling scared, and hated the feeling of it.


	6. 1993

**Author's Note:**

**Well, the plot slowly but surely is going to start coming alive! We're in 1993 guys! That means there's only a few chapters left until the meeting and the incidents and the rest of the story! Just bear with me for now! It's gonna be a long fic so I don't just wanna rush into shit and make the story not worth reading.**

**Thanks to yingangirl and pinkalmonds, you guys are lovely. **

**To everyone who's alerted me and subscribed - Thanks! I hope you're enjoying this :)**

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><p>1993<p>

Billy had been promoted. Fucking _lucky_ _him_. He was a Second Lieutenant now. Woohoo.

It had happened weeks ago, just off the coast of Mexico. Some idiots had bombed their fucking ship, and Billy had repeated gone through every hold and room as the ship sank, rescuing twenty men who were too dumb to do it themselves. Their 'leaders' had immediately jumped ship and swam to a safe distance.

Billy swore that he'd be a better leader than any of the selfish officers the government had given lofty ranks too. He was more than a foot soldier now. He still was a nobody, but that didn't matter to him. He now had a semblance of authority and power. And he'd use it to help dictate what he wanted to get done.

Billy was far from an idiot, and as much of an asshole he was, the cowardly behavior of his comrades had disgusted him beyond fucking belief. He swore to himself that he'd prevent that.

Anna agreed with him. Not only had she been horrified, and worried for him, she had shouted at him to get to safety the entire time he was searching the ship. But now that it was over and he was safe, she decided it had been the right thing to do. She was proud of him, she had told him.

"Despite the fact that you treat girls like shit and ignore your own mother, you're not half bad." She had teased.

He shrugged. "I have you, so I don't need anybody else," he reminded her of the promise he'd made to her, the first time he had sat at the piano with her in his arms, teaching him.

"You really should play again. You were a lot better than I was," she admitted.

"Does this mean you want me to buy a piano?" he asked dryly.

Billy didn't need alcohol to sleep anymore. He'd come to terms with Anna, and himself. He understood his circumstances were different. Maybe this happened to other people too, and they just refused to admit it.

More than that, he was grateful for whatever—or _whoever_—had returned Anna to him.

He'd been sober now, for six months. He treated the girls he slept with better as well. He did ignore his mother, but he loved her anyway, and they both knew it, so it didn't matter anyway. Yet Anna still claimed he was more jaded than he'd been.

"What the hell are you blathering about now, Anna?" he asked in exasperation one day as she harangued him about life in general.

"You!" she had cried out, continuing her rant. "You're so cynical now, Billy! You say you've found peace and that shit, but you just don't care about anything now! You aren't angry, or sad. You're just there!"

He rolled his eyes. "I care about you?" he asked, hoping it was the right answer, preoccupied with tying his shoe laces. He was fucking hungry: maybe he'd go to a restaurant. Or maybe he'd go grocery shopping. Anna always had fits of delight when he bothered to cook, although his skill didn't progress much beyond frozen pizzas and bland cooked chicken.

He could practically feel her wriggling around in bouts of frustration. He kept becoming more and more aware of her moods and 'movements'.

"Wrong!" she crowed, loving to correct him. "Billy, I'm the voice in your head. You need to care about stuff you can see and touch. Why don't you get a girlfriend or something?"

He froze. "No," he snarled out, the words coming out more harshly than he'd intended.

He knew that if she'd been standing in front of him, she'd roll her eyes, with that stupid exaggerated gesture, rolling her neck in the same movement. "Billy! Help me out here!" she complained.

Billy decided what he'd do, something to make her shut up about him for the rest of the day. He ignored her as he jogged down the road, until he reached the shoddy little cabin that served as a church. He opened the double doors, the most extravagant feature in the whole building, and awkwardly blessed himself at the little font next to the door.

Billy had never been particularly religious, although Anna had been devoutly adamant that God existed and all that crap.

It was in the middle of a sermon. The small church was crowded with people, so Billy stayed in the back, a bystander. He watched in fascination as people sang in unison to piano music, and children in matching outfits sang the choir, and as the bald priest at the front, behind the altar, lifted a fancy gold glass and a piece of round, flat bread, blessing it and feeding everyone.

Billy didn't go up to eat. But he watched as everyone else did, their faces pictures of boredom, exaltation, and relief. He didn't quite understand it. But it was new and interesting. He left after a few minutes and questioned Anna: "So what was all that about?"

Eagerly she began explaining. "That was a Roman Catholic church that you went to. The body and the blood of Christ were transformed from the bread and wine, and a piece of the bread and sip of the wine is called Communion. It relieves us of sins."

Billy was fascinated. Transformations?

He abruptly turned around in his tracks, forgetting his hunger. Cars were leaving the tiny parking lot, kids riding bicycles home, and adults were walking and talking. He opened the doors and began his search for the priest.

"Ah, hello son. What can I do for you?" the man asked, his elderly face lined with kindness. Billy was a little in awe of this man.

"I was just wondering—" he felt somewhat self conscious, in all honestly. "Your church—it believes in Jesus coming back from the dead?"

The man nodded, pleased to have a possible convert. "In a way, dear boy. We believe he rose from the dead to open the gates of Heaven for all of us mortals."

Billy nodded. "Do you really believe that? Literally?"

The man nodded. "Indeed we do. It's a major part of our doctrine."

Billy pursed his lips, unable to think of a way to couch his question. So he just blurted it out. "Can other people return from the dead?" he asked out in a rush.

The man looked curious, and led him to a back room with two dusty couches and dozens of holy things Billy didn't recognize. "Tell me of your questions," the priest asked quietly.

Billy immediately began, the words spilling from his mouth. "My girlfriend—a girl I would've loved to marry, died a few years ago… and now I hear her voice. I know it's real. I thought I was crazy. But she's there, really there in my head." He didn't feel any hurt any longer, because she was there with him, encouraging him. "Is it an act of God?" he felt strange, saying those words. As if they confirmed his belief in the unknown, the possibly imaginary.

The priest eyed him carefully. Was he judging Billy's plight? But his answer was filled with kindness. "I do believe, if someone is loved enough, then God will not tear them away."

It was all the reassurance Billy needed. Ecstatic, he jumped up. "Thank you, sir." He shook the man's hand gratefully.

The old priest smiled as Billy Coen, a formidable figure, walked away, bouncing on his heel, an enormous grin on his face.

Billy went out for Chinese food. He grabbed the takeout, leaving a twenty dollar tip for the tiny little hostess and when he got home, he tore into the meal, elation tempting his hunger even more. He taught himself to eat with the chopsticks, although Anna scolded him for spilling noodles all over the kitchen floor, accidentally knocking over his rice all over his clothes, until he cleaned it up and refrigerated the leftovers.

Filled with energy, Billy decided to go running.

It was still hot, although noon had long passed. Billy couldn't contain himself as he sped forward, letting Anna talk, just feeling refreshed and happy, more euphoric than he'd felt in months. He ran until the sun set, and as darkness crept over the sky, the eastern stars twinkling and the western sky an explosion of color. God, the scenery felt like something out of a corny movie, but it only added to Billy's joy of this moment, of _every_ moment.

Billy kept running until thirst completely overcame him. He collapsed in the grass of the park, several miles from his house. He sucked in a breath, his chest rising and falling deeply and rapidly.

And for the first time, Billy began to laugh. It was a gasping, rasping, terrible sound, which completely carried his absolute pleasure. He was not scoffing at something, or snorting, or chuckling darkly, his humor unappeased. He was laughing, with complete peace, gasping for air, his throat dry.

God had given him Anna back, and he was sure as hell gonna keep her.

Rebecca was extremely uncomfortable.

Jacob had called her two days ago, at Claire's house, and asked her out on a real live date.

She had several classes right now, but he'd been insistent. She finally agreed, with Claire squealing in her ear.

Chris had heard about it, and promised Rebecca to kick the kid's ass if he bothered her. She had smiled at him gratefully. Chris had a temper, and was very protective, but she knew he was only joking to help her feel better. Or at least, she hoped so.

Chris Redfield had shown himself to be a wonderful guardian. Rebecca was a junior in college now, but Chris still insisted on her coming over as often as possible, spending time with the girls, making their dinners, playing games with them, and bought the kind of pads that Rebecca and Claire liked to use, no questions asked.

Claire had grown into a gorgeous girl, fourteen years old and vivacious, with her very own boyfriend named Shaun. Chris hated him.

Once, Rebecca had gone over to eat dinner with Chris while Claire was on a date with Shaun, and Chris had spotted them kissing. It made Rebecca laugh until her stomach hurt to see the three of their faces: Chris', the picture of ultimate betrayal, Claire's, a portrait of embarrassment and fury, and Shaun's face held total terror of Chris.

It was the funniest thing Rebecca had ever seen.

But now, it didn't seem so funny. She had picked her prettiest clothes and gone over to Claire's. Jacob didn't really know much about Rebecca. She always avoided the subject when he asked her what school she went to, or where she lived. She just told him to call her or pick her up at Claire's since she was always there.

The only time she was at her own dorm was when she needed to study without any distractions, or when she wanted to call Mr. Johnson.

She missed him still. Even with Claire and Chris, she still missed him beyond belief. Claire had other friends, and Chris had a whole life besides her and Claire, but Rebecca only had them and Mr. Johnson. Her professors were impartial. Aside from the first shock at seeing a little girl walk into their classrooms, and understanding the material immediately, even already knowing some of it, they mostly ignored her, to avoid favoritism. Her classmates and peers mostly did the same. Besides one or two people who had been friendly, Rebecca was whispered about, the child prodigy, the freak.

She told him all about her life, every detail, including the date she was about to go on. He was supportive, protective, and in every aspect her guardian. Truthfully, she rarely saw him: but the reunions were always joyful.

He spoke often of retiring, of going off to live in peace, but Rebecca never believed him. He couldn't retire on her, she needed him.

But she was interrupted from her thoughts by Claire poking her in the eye with the stick of eyeliner. "Ouch!" Rebecca nearly toppled over, trying to get away from the evil torture device. "Why do I even need to wear that? Jacob thinks I'm pretty, if he wanted to ask me on a date. He won't recognize me with all the clown makeup caked on me!" Rebecca grumbled, looking in the mirror.

Claire scoffed. "You don't always have to wear it, just on fancy dates. He's taking you to dinner. That's fancy."

"McDonalds isn't fancy," Rebecca answered drily.

Claire smacked her. "Shut up, you're going to have a wonderful time and you know it, so stop being such a party pooper," she teased, pulling Rebecca forward to curl her eyelashes.

Although Rebecca doubted that McDonalds was her destination, she really wasn't looking forward to tonight. She'd rather study for her courses. She really needed too. This distraction wasn't going to help her grades. And honestly, she didn't really want to spend time with a boy who didn't know anything about her. He'd probably make assumptions, do something stupid to annoy her, or try to kiss her. She was beyond nervous, worried, and somewhat irritated at herself for agreeing to this. He'd probably expect a second date, and she'd be wasting more time with someone she wanted as a friend, not a boyfriend. She wast ready: she was too busy.

And this makeup was giving her a headache. Her face felt weird and different, like it was made of plastic. The eyeliner coated around her eyes was done expertly, although Rebecca had no idea how, since Claire herself rarely wore the stuff. But the ring of brown-black around her eyes, topped off with curly eyelashes covered in an inky mascara, made blinking a foreign process.

And how was she going to eat with the Chap Stick Claire had put on her lips to tint them? She'd end up getting the greasy stuff all over her food and make it taste awful. And blush, foundation, eye shadow: she felt like a clown.

The doorbell rang and Rebecca forgot to look in the mirror. She didn't know if she looked pretty or ridiculous, but with Chris and Jacob gazing at her when she and Claire walked into the room made her sense ridiculous. She privately reminded herself to ream Claire out for the makeup ideas, when Chris cleared his throat. "Very pretty, Becca, now uh, you guys have a good time. Are you coming back here tonight, Rebecca?"

She shook her head. "Tomorrow. I need to study, and I have a class first thing in the morning that I have to make."

She wondered belatedly if Jacob was going to insist on walking her 'home'. How would she refuse?

Actually, it might be a good way to scare him off so she wouldn't have to worry about him.

"So," Rebecca asked nervously. "Where are we going?"

He smiled at her. She realized that he had grown taller. He topped her by a good four inches. His hair was still dark and curly, in a mop on the top of his head. He was wearing pressed jeans, clean sneakers, and a striped collared shirt, white and blue. "We're going to Café Gray," he said, referring to the somewhat classier than a diner restaurant about a fifteen minute walk away. She nodded.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, with Rebecca feeling awkward and ridiculous. Her jeans fit snugly and she wore a pair of sandals and a V-neck shirt that Claire insisted she wear. Rebecca thought the choice was ridiculous. The green-gray shirt was supposed to stretch over her breasts, but since Rebecca lacked a large amount of cleavage – or _any_, for that matter—, the gesture was lost.

"So, why did you finally agree to come on a date with me?" Jacob asked with a lopsided smile.

Rebecca shrugged, feeling as if any efforts at a conversation would fail miserably. Yet she tried anyway.

"I guess to get you to shut up," she tried to tease, hoping she didn't sound too deadpan- or honest.

He smiled. "It won't work. If this goes great, I plan on several more dates," he answered her joke with a statement that not only showed her his intentions, but made her internally groan. "But tell me about yourself, Becca. I don't know anything about you. You always change the subject."

Rebecca had been skirting the subject on purpose, obviously, but apparently he didn't realize it. Rebecca was used to people around her being extremely intelligent, perceptive, and mature. Jacob was in high school. She wasn't used to any boys her age, besides Kyle.

The thought came with a reminiscent twang. She rarely thought of him, trying to get past the memories, and into a new life, one where she could forge her own path. But Kyle… the little shit. He had been a liar, a prankster, and a tattle tale, and was the only boy even remotely close to her age that she had ever been friends with.

Where had he even gone off to? He and Lindsey had both disappeared without a trace. At the time, Rebecca had accepted it, but now, it really was somewhat suspicious…

"Rebecca? Does the quiet mean you're not gonna tell me?" Jacob joked.

Rebecca sensed suddenly that he was just as nervous as she. "I'm sorry, K—Jacob," she apologized, pasting on a smile. "I just was thinking. Uh, it's kind of a long story to tell," she confessed.

He grinned. "We have plenty of time. At least we won't run out of conversation."

Rebecca wasn't used to talking about herself, and it was a strange experience, sharing it with someone. She wasn't one for self pity either, yet as she began her tale she realized how pitiful she had once been.

"Well, I'm an orphan," she confessed right off the bat. "It's really the thing you need to know about. I don't know who my dad is, or anything about him. My mom was sixteen, and apparently was going to keep me, until she died… in childbirth."

Rebecca felt a wash of guilt at the admission, remembering how she had felt when Johnson had first told her. She had and still did blame herself.

Jacob nodded understandingly. "So how do you know Claire?" he asked, fascinated by her story.

Rebecca had never felt so interesting in her life. "Well, I suppose because, when I was eight, I had to go through a series of tests. I didn't know why at the time, but later, I found out that they were testing my intelligence. I'm a genius." She felt conceited saying that, as if she were bragging instead of stating a fact of her life, one that had driven her to where she was now.

He looked surprised. "Continue," he said.

As they walked into the café, the hostess seated them. Rebecca ordered water, whereas Jacob ordered a 7Up. The glasses were cold and perspiring, and the lights were dim, with music playing, and plenty of others in the restaurant.

"Well, after about three years of nonstop studying and working and testing, this company gave me a grant, and I gained a scholarship…" she hesitated to continue, knowing he'd brand her a freak if she continued.

He looked avidly interested. As the waitress came, she paused her story to read the menu.

"I'll get the hamburger," Jacob said plainly.

Rebecca scanned the menu. She hated eating unhealthily, although vegetables weren't on her list of favorite things. "I'll get the salmon please?" she asked the waitress shyly. "No sauce, thanks."

The bodacious, redheaded waitress smiled. "Sure thing. That'll just be a few minutes you two."

As soon as she walked always, Jacob leaned on his elbows across the table and requested for Rebecca to continue.

She felt awkward. "With the grant and the scholarship, I got my own room at Racoon University," she held her breath, waiting for him to scoff.

But he didn't. Surprised, he counted years, slowly. "So you're a junior in college?" he asked her, eyes wide.

She nodded tightly, waiting for his condemnation. But it never came. "Then what?" he asked eagerly.

She explained Mr. Johnson, and her feelings of fright, the coffeemaker, meeting Chris, then Claire, and how they both befriended her. "They're my best friends in the world, the both of them. I don't know where I'd be right now, without either of them. My studying habits were always bad, but now I have friends and a home cooked meal whenever I want it. I only pull about two all-nighters a week. Whenever I'm at Claire's, Chris makes us go to bed early. But then we wake up early, so it doesn't matter."

He looked at her strangely. "Is it hard? Being in college I mean. I know I'm worried about it, and I'm in highschool."

She nodded. "My major is biochemistry, so there's a lot of math and sciences. I hate math, honestly. I guess I'm good at it, but it's not my favorite thing."

He laughed. "I'm a math whiz. You're probably much better than me, but the math I know now, I like. I'm taking two algebra classes this year."

"It must be nice having summers off," Rebecca commented enviously. "I just go whenever my classes start. I've had the same dorm room since the beginning. I'm not in a sorority, obviously, being the school freak, but it'd be nice to have a whole three months to do nothing."

"You're different, Becca." Jacob said suddenly, thanking the waitress as she brought their food out. He immediately dug in. But Rebecca appreciated him not speaking with his mouth filled with food. It was disgusting.

"What do you mean?" she asked, wondering what he meant. She knew she was, but it wasn't always a good thing. She cut up her fish before taking small bites. The plate was decorated with little pieces of lettuce.

He swallowed and sipped his soda before answering. "I mean, you're different. You know you are too, I guess. You're a lot smarter than me. But I guess I mean that you're… other girls like to be cute, or loud, I guess. You… I don't even know how to describe it. You're tough, Bec. You've gone through so much, you're a junior in college, but… I guess I mean that I like you. A lot."

Rebecca felt a tremor run through her, and didn't know if it was nervousness or excitement. She really couldn't tell.

As they finished, he paid the bill, and Rebecca realized how short their time together had been. He walked her slowly. "Do you want me to walk through your dorm?"

She smiled. "No, you'd probably get beat up by some drunk frat boys. They know me, so I'll be fine. But… I wasn't expecting to have a good time tonight, Jake." She admitted with a small smile.

Jacob looked at Rebecca, watching her little mannerisms and her facial expressions. He thought she was beautiful and tiny, like a doll, with perfect peachy cheeks and wide, enormous eyes, dominating her face.

He answered: "I'm really glad… I'd like to see you again sometime?" he asked, his heart in his throat.

Rebecca smiled at him. "Sure… just call me at Claire's."

Jacob placed a hand on her shoulder, and wrapped the other one around her waist, pulling her close to him. He kissed her.

Her first kiss wasn't that bad, Rebecca reasoned. Kind of slippery and too close, but the softness of his lips and shyness of his action made her feel better.

He released her, and Rebecca smiled at him. In unison, they both wiped their mouths with the back of their hands and laughed together.

"I guess we need more practice," Jacob shrugged abashedly. "I'll call you sometime, Rebecca."

She nodded at him, smiling, not so afraid of the future anymore.


	7. 1994

**Author's Note:**

**Ugh, it's so hard to post these chapters! I can't wait until everyone reads about their adventures. I'm so sick of the pre-chapters. It's hard to write them! But they're necessary, so here you go guys. Read and review!**

**Oh, and thanks to pinkalmonds for pointing out this horribly dumb grammatical mistake I made. Gotta stay on my toes! ^^**

* * *

><p>1994<p>

"Well, Mr. Coen, you seem to be suffering from PTSD."

"What the hell is that?" he snapped back at the therapist the Marines employed. Throughout his past missions, he'd become a liability. If he ever slept, his crippling nightmares began to overcome him, until his teammates would wake him up to get him to shut up. Yelling in his sleep was apparently unhealthy.

"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It—"

"I know what that is, and I know I don't have it." he rolled his eyes at the woman in front of him. He'd like to see her try tolerating traveling around, catching weird diseases and constantly with a gun in her hand. Christ. He didn't have that stupid fucking disorder.

"With the nightmares and episodes you've been having, Mr. Coen—"

The woman was in her mid-twenties, thin and blonde, with green eyes and plain features, covered by square glasses. She was trim and neat. What the fuck did she know about this shit? Whatever the hell she got in her textbooks.

Billy was definitely not a textbook case. And his nightmares didn't come from his missions.

He fucking dreamt about car accidents.

Billy and his mother had finally seen each other again, for an extended period. His mother, graying at the edges of her hair and wrinkles beginning to form around her tired eyes, had been delighted. They'd spent all their time together.

Until she had fucking been plowed into by a truck.

What the fuck was with his luck with cars? He had been almost completely unscathed, while his mother had a piece of glass shoved straight through her brain.

He was completely alone now.

Constantly working, Billy had been gone since the accident, and he would be on another mission now if he hadn't been sent to the fucking shrink.

"What is it that frightens you, Billy?" she used his name as a way to coax him. "Tell me, I can help."

"Fuck you." He said simply, in a calm, level tone. "I'm not putting up with your textbook bullshit. You can tell anyone that you fixed me, I don't particularly give a shit." He opened the door and she cried out:

"Wait! Don't leave yet!" she pleaded with him.

He turned, his eyes hard. "What?"

She sighed. "My next patient is a nymphomaniac who had sex with every woman he saw on his last mission. You Marines are crazy fucks, but I'd rather sit in a room with your hostility than be ogled at."

He was surprised at her honestly, and reassessed her. Maybe there was more to this woman. "Aren't you supposed to keep patient confidentiality?"

"It's not exactly a secret that he had about eighteen STDs," she answered dryly.

Anna laughed in his head.

God it was a relief to hear her.

Anna had been becoming weaker: her voice came to him less frequently, and when it did, she sounded tired, strained. He felt so fucking selfish and guilty for asking her stay around, instead of sleeping in his subconscious, or going to heaven or whatever the hell she did when she wasn't with him, but he needed her.

He loved her too fucking much, and he couldn't let go.

"If we're all crazy fucks, why are you a Marine therapist?" he rolled his eyes.

"Because crazy fucks pay better than sane ones." She answered smartly. "Why are you in the Marines?"

He felt a grin creep across his face. He leaned against the door. The clever bitch was trying to get him to open up, and he knew it, but he decided to give her something to work with. "I signed up after my girlfriend died. She was eighteen."

Anna yawned in his head. "Are you going to tell her how much you loved me?" she teased, and he felt the brush of her kissing his cheek, although nothing was there.

She nodded, obviously refraining from jotting down notes on her little clipboard. He smirked to himself. She was pretty good.

She looked for something to say that wasn't clinical. "That must've been rough on you."

She has no idea, he thought to himself. He really was a crazy fuck. She had put it aptly.

"Working on letting go," he lied, grinning as barely masked delight came over her face. He was a bastard for toying with her. But he couldn't bring himself to really care.

"I'm all torn up about it on the inside," he shook his head, placing a hand on his heart.

She looked up at that, her eyes narrowing. "You're not supposed to lie to your therapist," she answered, irritated at his games.

"Never said I'm lying. Have fun getting ogled at," he answered, walking out the door.

"Bastard," he heard Anna say sleepily to him. He grinned. He had only done what he did to rouse Anna. She mostly only came to correct his manners or to reproach him.

"What a thing to say to your boyfriend," he teased.

The term 'boy'friend no longer fit Billy in any way. He was a hardened soldier, a cynical asshole, and a human tank. He paused for a second, wondering what they were to each other now. He loved her, sure, but she was dead, nothing but an intangible presence. She had loved him, but she was gone now, bound to him by… something?

It would be way too corny to admit. Bound to him by… his _love_? His fucking completely overwhelming, everlasting _love_ for her?

Christ, how had he fallen so head over heels when he was just a kid? How had he stayed that way?

The combined loss of Anna, his mother, and his grandparents had completely turned Billy cold. He cared about nothing but his men, keeping them safe and under control. He was determined to see his duty through. It was all he had left.

He wanted to sell the house, but couldn't bring himself to do it. It was completely his now. His grandparents had bought it years ago, and paid off the mortgage with the help of his mother. The house held too many ghosts and skeletons for him, and he couldn't bear to get rid of it, despite how he was haunted.

And he looked it too. With constant five-o'clock shadow and the tired eyes of a man three times his age, Billy was lifeless. In truth, he often felt as if there was nothing to live for. He couldn't bring himself to make acquaintances, to renew friendships, to find a new girl to hold on his arms. Billy was celibate. He no longer even felt the urge, not when he saw a beautiful woman, not when he was flirted with.

He didn't understand any appeal he had. He was a bastard, an asshole. He was stoic and solid, completely responsible. He had changed so much over the years that he was unrecognizable.

Even to himself.

* * *

><p>Claire winked at Rebecca, her reflection showing a girl with red hair and long lashes framing blue eyes. Rebecca stood next to her in the full length mirror and looked at her dress. They were preparing for Claire's school's homecoming. Claire had a date, a boy named Jay, and Rebecca was going to Jacob.<p>

She had been officially dating him for three months. She was somebody's girlfriend.

She was excited to be going to a homecoming. As a senior in college, she had missed out any chance to live a normal life, to go to high school and join a sport, make friends, do a club. But Jacob was taking her to a real live dance.

She was beyond excited. It was still two months away, but Claire said they needed to get the prettiest dresses they could find.

Claire's dress was short and green, with tiny strap sleeves. It sparkled with glitter and Claire decided she loved it. Chris had given her just enough money to get this dress, and it was perfect.

Rebecca however, wasn't having much luck. Her hair couldn't decide between red and brown, her eyes between green and hazel. The dress she had on now was white, with a halter but going down past her knees. It was pretty, but it didn't feel right.

"I don't know what to get, Claire!" Rebecca sighed. She hated all of this dressing and undressing, shopping and switching and deciding on outfits. She wore a uniform of jeans and a t shirt, usually a gray or a green. She wanted to try something different with her dress, to be pretty enough to surprise Jacob.

Claire grinned at her. "Don't worry, he thinks you're gorgeous already!" the tall, striking girl promised her friend.

Rebecca pulled on the last dress she had picked out. It was a deep blue, longer than the other dresses she had tried, but sleeveless. The cloth nearly swept the floor, and the sapphire color highlighter her eyes, making them a deep, ocean green and her hair a shining auburn.

Claire nodded. "That's the perfect one! I told you you'd find it!" she gloated. "You look great!"

Claire cheered and Rebecca concentrated at herself in the mirror. She was five feet, two inches tall, while Jacob had grown to be five ten, although just as skinny as ever.

"Are you two done yet?" Chris had a clearly hopeful tinge to his voice.

Rebecca smiled. "Yes, both of us!" she stripped down and pulled on her clothes, carefully taking the dress and walking out. Claire grinned at her older brother. "I have just enough to get this dress!" she gloated. He frowned. He had purposely given her a small amount to make sure she'd need to ask him for permission to get a dress, since it was his money.

Rebecca still got regular checks from Umbrella, seeing as her GPA was still one of the highest in her class. She would continue to get them until the end of next year, when she graduated.

She had saved a good deal of money by eating with Chris. She was wealthy enough by now. She was emancipated, something necessary to her lifestyle, and could get herself her own apartment. What she was worried about was getting a job. She'd need to support herself. She'd be fifteen years old.

She realized she really would have to start looking at the future. She resolved to call Johnson when she got back to her dorm. He'd know what to do.

She handed the cool, green bills to the young woman at the cash register and hugged the bag to her chest happily. She couldn't wait for the dance, even though it was far away from now.

"Do you girls want lunch?" Chris asked, eager to escape the store filled with young, giggling girls casting eyes upon him.

"Yeah, can we go to McDonalds?" Claire begged her brother, giving over-dramatic puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "Wipe that stupid look off your face, Claire. I hate fast food, and since I'm paying, I pick."

Rebecca smiled softly at the two sibling's banter. "Why don't we just go to Emmy's?"

Claire sighed. "But I want McDonalds!" she complained, although her heart wasn't in it. Claire loved the burgers and milkshakes Emmy's sold. Rebecca usually ate a salad, ever conscious of what she put into her body, refusing dressings, drinking only water at restaurants and eating lots of fruit.

As a biochem major, she had taken several health classes, as well as anatomy and nursing, and she was acutely aware of the effects food, exercise, and sleep had on her body. Since she was constantly staying up all night and drinking gallons of coffee, she figured she'd need to be healthy in every other way. She wasn't looking forward to health-issues that she could have in the future, and took as many preventative measures that she could.

Chris, as a part of the Air Force, made sure he ate healthy, although he never went overboard. Claire just ate whatever looked good to her. Her favorite food was cheeseburgers. She loved Emmy's, McDonalds, and even the burgers that Chris grilled in the kitchen. She loved cheese and grease, and she could afford to eat so badly because she was so athletic. Not only was she into sports at her school, but she had begun to show an interest in motor cycles. Chris hated the idea of it, and squashed down every suggestion of them.

"When you get your license, move out of my house, and learn to wear a helmet when you ride a bike is the day you'll own a motorcycle," he'd told her more than once. "I do not want a kid even imagining riding in one of those death traps."

"You ride airplanes and helicopters and all sorts of things!" she protested. "How is that any less dangerous than a motorcycle?"

"One, I get paid to do that. You get a job and pay for it yourself. Two, I'm not a reckless idiot."

Even Rebecca had trouble hiding a snort at that statement. Chris was bullheaded, temperamental, over protective, and just as reckless as his younger sister.

These personality traits dominated Chris' life. His impulsiveness meant that he acted rashly, without thinking and usually bulldozed himself into trouble. He'd gotten in trouble at work several times already for disobeying orders, because he thought they were wrong.

Walking back to his car, he saw someone he recognized. "Hey, Barry!" he shouted. "Barry!"

The man, Barry, turned around. "Who?" he asked loudly, not seeing Chris. "Who? Who's there?"

"It's me, Barry!" Chris yelled. The man saw him and strode over, a big grin on his face.

"Hey there, Redfield!" the man boomed. He was a tall, stocky man, with a blunt face and a wide smile. "What are you doing out here on such a wonderful day?"

"This is Rebecca, and my younger sister Claire. I'm taking them shopping." He answered with a sigh.

Barry laughed. "I'm waiting for the wife and kids m'self. I don't know why they dragged me along, except to make me chauffeur them! Hi there, Claire-o." he smiled at the tall redhead, then turned to the smaller, auburn topped girl. "Hey there, Becca! You two are a bit older than my girls. Want to see?" he didn't wait for an answer, but whipped out his wallet and showed them a picture, of two young girls laughing and an older woman with an exasperated expression.

Rebecca smiled at the picture of a happy family. "It's very nice," she told him sincerely.

Claire seemed rather subdued, and gave a distant smile to Barry.

"Well, I should go before the wife starts wondering where I went!" the older man shook Chris' hand. "I'll be seeing you soon, Redfield!"

He walked away boisterously, and Claire burst out: "Was dad that corny, Chris?" she asked, her voice oddly small.

Rebecca felt her heart go out to her friend. Chris put a hand on each of their shoulders and smiled at his younger sister. "You better believe it. He had a picture of you from when you were a kid, butt naked and laughing, spaghetti sauce all over your face. He showed it to everybody he met. It was awful," Chris's eyes glinted with laughter. "He showed it to my friend's mother once, this prim older lady, and she nearly had a cow. It was awesome."

Claire giggled at that and immediately was back to her own, bubbly personality. "So, are we going to Emmy's or what?" she grinned happily, clutching her shopping bag.

Chris ordered for them and sat in the booth, sucking down a milkshake just as eagerly as Claire. Rebecca drank a sip of water, feeling hot. The weather was nice, but it would be August in a few days, and she could feel the oppressive heat. At least Emmy's had a nice AC system.

The sweet, older waitress, Betty, brought them their food quickly. It was a slow day. Not many people wanted to venture out in this heat too long.

Rebecca dug into the salad. Being regulars, the cooks knew exactly what Rebecca liked: spinach leaves with tomatoes, red, green, and yellow peppers, carrots, peas, and orange juice drizzled on top. It was a strange flavoring, but it was better than dressings. She squeezed a lemon into her water and sucked it down thirstily. Betty chattily refilled it for her, asking about their lives, when school would start, if they had any boyfriends, telling Chris to keep them out of trouble.

Rebecca liked the older woman. She was short and stout and motherly. Rebecca offhandedly wondered if Betty had any children of her own. She seemed the type.

Chris invited Betty to sit with them, and she did, filling up the hungry silence with conversation, questions, and facts. She had never been married, Rebecca knew, but that didn't necessarily mean she'd never had children.

She listened absently to the conversation and suddenly realized that Betty was working whenever the threesome ate at Emmy's. Rebecca suddenly wondered what the future had in store for her. She was suddenly eager to get back to her dorm room, filled up with books and clutter and the ever-present scent of coffee. She'd grab quarters and run to the payphones and tell Johnson all about her life and worries, and he'd comfort her and tell her what to do. It was a familiar pattern and Rebecca was soothed by it.

Change was scary.

No, it was beyond scary.

Rebecca was suddenly filled with a cold terror and excused herself to the bathroom before throwing up in the dingy toilet. She could barely breathe, and wheezed, seeing stars in front of her eyes, little dots that made her vision swirl. Her depth perception failed her, and her head felt as if she had stood too fast after a nap. She felt sweat drip down her back as she suddenly felt hotter than ever, on fire from the inside, her skin the only thing keeping her blood from bursting into flames, combining with oxygen to make a deadly explosion.

She was crazy. She was tired. She was stressed and exhausted and she had been up all night for weeks and hadn't had a real night's sleep in months and she was ranting and raving in her head and she was only fourteen, why did this have to overwhelm her so soon, so fast, it wasn't fair and it wasn't possible and she blacked out.

Her head hit the stall and woke her instantly. The whole process had only taken a few minutes, and she ran to the sink, splashing her face with cold water and staring in the mirror at her crazed reflection. Hazel eyes, auburn locks, and pink cheeks returned her gaze. It wasn't a whole person. It was features, put together in the guise of a person

The bathroom was blessedly empty, and she didn't have to make excuses. She was scared and worried and suddenly it seemed as if the future was right in front of her, staring her down with cold, black eyes, bottomless like voids.

They'd suck her in if she let them.


	8. 1995

**Author's Note:**

**Well, this chapter should be pretty revealing as to the personalities of Billy and Rebecca. **

**Rebecca and Billy are the two ONLY changeable characters throughout the game, with the exception of Leon S. Kennedy. But while his changes take place over the course of several games, Billy and Rebecca's personalities show remarkable adaptability. In RE0 vs Umbrella Chronicles, Rebecca is more confident in the former, although she's just as sparky in UC. Billy, in the beginning of RE0 is flirty and laid back, but as the games go on, he reveals himself to be caring, stubborn, and (in my opinion) deeply wounded by the world. **

**Tbh, he's kind of a cynical ass. But he's a genuinely good guy, deep down.**

* * *

><p>1995<p>

Billy knelt at the pew. Devotion, it was called. Just to sit in peace and quiet, listen to the priest's hum as he prepared for his next sermon, the occasional murmur of one of the few others with him.

Anna hummed along with him, her thoughts shielded from his. Nowadays, as she began to fade, her voice was strongest when he did what she loved. So whenever he was on leave, he visited dozens of churches, practiced piano, and ate every meal outside, reminiscent of the last meal they shared together. Christ, he missed her.

Billy was a man who was learning about peace. He had learned to rein in his temper, to stay calm in any situation. He remained as unsocial as he had been since the accident, and not a day passed when he didn't think about his mother or grandparents, the silly antics and warm familiarity they had all shared.

After an hour, he stood and walked out of the church. He was twenty-three now. He felt so much fucking older than that. His celibacy, his temperance, and his lifestyle had brought him a quietness of spirit. His Marine buddies always asked him to join them in a celebratory night out, to confide in them and party with them. But Billy always refused.

Lieutenant Billy Coen had become somewhat of a mystery to his comrades. He was considered a good leader, but was cold and quiet, impersonal and distant. He'd changed often in the past few years, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. Men and women with families noted his ever-constant presence, and the wilder, younger ones who liked partying and freedom noted his polite refusals to join them. He was friendless but respected, with a quiet, calm aura that belied his past as well as his size.

He enjoyed the warmth that came over him as the sun fell over his figure in the noon light. He took a deep breath and just held it within his lungs for a single moment, capturing the fresh, scentless, tasteless ease that it entered his body.

He exhaled.

He didn't know what to do with himself. Anna was faint once more, and all he fucking wanted right now was to listen to her. He yawned. Most of his nights were spent now, waiting for her to speak, to try and lull him to sleep. But she sure as shit wasn't. He and his newfound patience waited for her voice, night after night, and then he woke himself at six every day, with a complete workout regimen. He had begun putting himself in jeopardy, volunteering for more dangerous missions, and craving to hear her voice. He'd won several awards that he didn't care about, and was considered one of the top men. In a few more successful missions, he'd be prime for promotion.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

He was a professional, one of the best at his job, a career man, and reasonably well paid for it. He survived.

That was about it, though. He managed. He ate well, cooking often, because Anna liked it. He bought fancy fucking food, nothing from the package. He looked up recipes and bought fucking cookbooks. He was a damn good cook by now. He slept horribly, staying up all night and waking up early. He was fit, working out every morning for two hours.

And he was learning to cope well.

But everything was getting to him: his nerves were shot, he wanted sex, and a drink didn't sound too bad either. But these bad habits had fucked him up before: he didn't want to fall into that territory again.

As he strode, he heard someone yelling his name. A girl. He sighed internally and looked around, spotting the young woman who had called his name.

"Hey Billy," the girl panted.

He was preoccupied, but this girl, he genuinely liked. Rosa Jones had gone to high school with him, and been one of the sportier girls. She had run track, played volleyball, softball, and basketball. She was a tall, pretty Hispanic girl with a wide smile and a girlfriend. Billy liked her because he knew she'd never make a move on him. "How are you?" he asked her, turning his attention towards her.

She panted a little, and he noticed her workout attire and the sweat dripping from her tan, muscular body. "I've been good. Training for a marathon, actually. Which is why I'm looking so lovely," she grinned and gestured at her damp body.

Billy gave a welcoming return smile. "Really? Must be tough training for that."

"Yeah, I've had to go on this crazy diet. The smaller, the faster, you know? It's been killing Consuela. She likes me when I'm bigger." Rosa winked lewdly and Billy felt a real laugh bubble up inside her.

Rosa had been openly gay in high school, and gone through a lot of shit for it, especially in the locker rooms. But she had always been tough and stood her ground, willing to fight to defend herself. Consuela had been a few years younger than them, but he faintly remembered her. She was short and thick, with dark hair and eyes. Billy hadn't known she was a lesbian until she and Rosa had begun a relationship.

When Billy didn't answer, Rosa continued. "I should probably go, Billy, but it was nice to see you. You're always gone! I'm always surprised to see you in town."

Billy shrugged. "Guess I'm not around much, am I? Always busy, popular guy that I am."

Rosa barked a laugh and punched his shoulder playfully. "Call me sometime, Billy! You could use more friends."

"Yeah, for free shit and beer," he answered dryly.

She rolled her eyes, giggling. "Whatever. But I'm serious! I expect a call within the next five years." she teased him, jogging away.

He felt himself smiling. It actually hurt. He hadn't grinned like this in months. It felt good though: the soreness around his mouth and cheeks was satisfying, and he felt lighter in his step after speaking to Rosa. He couldn't stop the grin. It was uncontrollable, and he felt something genuine bubble up.

Billy burst out laughing.

Walking along the middle of the street, the stoic Billy Coen, walking alone, began to laugh like an idiot.

He got a couple stares, but it was a hot day and few people were walking. Anyway, he didn't really care about what they thought. Shit, he was happy. Just a moment's conversation with a friendly woman he barely knew had made him _happy_.

Maybe he _did_ need to get out more often.

Rebecca laughed and shoved Jacob away from her. Sitting in her dimly lit dorm room, with the scent of coffee and Chinese food filtering through the air, the two were just sitting together. They had been together over a year, and Rebecca loved every minute she spent with him. He was funny, he was earnest, and he truly cared about what she had to say.

He laughed with her, his floppy curls falling over his forehead. "You know you want it," he teased, planting sloppy kisses all over her face.

She laughed and wiped her face free of slime. "Get off me, you big Neanderthal!" she laughed as he laid on top of her, crushing her with his weight.

"No, I'm pretty comfortable," he pretended to yawn and fall asleep, obnoxiously faking snores in her ear.

"Am I _that_ boring?" she chuckled at his ridiculous behavior and tried to wriggle her way free.

"Not at all. I'm not bored," he answered devilishly, giving her a real kiss.

It was much better than the first one they'd shared. His technique had improved with time and age, as well as practice. He gently ran his hands down her body and she relaxed like a cat in the sun.

What she loved about Jacob was that when he kissed, he was gentle. When he touched her body, he never left a spot untouched, but never tried to reach beneath her clothing unless she lead him. He rested his hands on her clothed breasts and she felt a yearning deep inside of her: but for what, she didn't know.

She wasn't ready to have sex with him. But the feeling was there. They explored each other slowly, wondrously, curiously. They were each other's practice dummies, sounding boards of what was okay, what was good, and what wasn't.

It was the best science project Rebecca had ever done.

She lazily let him run his hands over her body, with the only thing separating them a thin shirt.

Science project.

_Shit._

She leapt from the bed, nearly knocking Jacob off the bed in the process. "Jacob!" she realized fretfully, prancing around the room, trying to delay the panic. "I have a _test_ tomorrow! I _have_ to _study_! It's first thing in the morning, I'm gonna be up all night! I'm so irresponsible; I can't believe I forgot something like this! It's worth a quarter of my grade! How am I going to do this!" she wailed.

She was an idiot. How could she forget this? It was one of the most important exams of the course, and she forgot it. She was an idiot. After all the allowances the school and Johnson and Umbrella and the Redfields and Jacob had given her, she was screwing up.

Rebecca burst into tears. It was stupid and she knew it, but she was panicking and emotional and she was going to have to stay up again and she was so tired, so exhausted that she couldn't even think, which made the entire matter worse, because if she couldn't think then she couldn't study and she'd fail, but she was going to fail anyway because she was a raving idiot.

"Rebecca," Jacob sat on the floor and pulled her down onto his lap. "Shh, calm down. It's okay. Why don't you give me the information you need, like on a packet, and I'll quiz you? Then, whatever you don't know, you can study. It can cut your time in half, depending on how much you already have memorized." He soothed her, and she let herself sob into his chest.

She just needed a release. For years and years, she had just been climbing up an insurmountable cliff, unable to see in front of her, and unable to look up into the glare of the sun. She was exhausted. She never had a break. Even her breaks were filled with her scheduling her future time. Any time she went out with Claire or Jacob, she went home and studied all night immediately afterwards. Rebecca was fucking tired.

There, she said it. She was fucking exhausted beyond words.

But after this, she'd be done.

After this, she could choose her path. Just these next few weeks. If she could get through, if she could survive just a little longer, she could do whatever she liked.

Johnson had arranged for her to stay with him. He had officially retired as a tutor. He said she could stay with him for as long as she liked. When they spoke, her acceptance of his over had been laced with gratitude. She loved him like a father. She regretted that she had seen so little of him since starting school. But she'd be done soon, so soon.

Yet these last weeks would kill her.

She finished crying and relaxed in Jacob's thin arms for a few moments. The tall, good-looking boy rubbed her arm until she relaxed. "Please don't cry, Becca, I'll help you however I can," he promised. "I'll stay here all night."

She nodded in gratitude and burst into tears all over again. "You're too good to me," she cried.

He cuddled her closer. "Just let it out, Becca, go ahead and cry. I'm right here and I'll take good care of you."

She felt the unspoken words. I love you, his silence said.

She didn't love him.

She cared about Jacob, and wanted to be with him. For a long time. He was the only person she had ever related too like this. Kyle and Lindsey had been so much older than her, and they had left so long ago. Chris and Claire took care of her, were like family to her. But Jacob taught her things about her body she hadn't known, kissed her and flirted with her. It was a strange, sometimes frightening new world that he opened up for her.

She had to grow up so fast, it wasn't fair. She could at least grab the few snatches of joy life gave to her. It was only right.

Rebecca wondered what her life could've been, if all those years ago she hadn't been a genius. If she had just been a regular girl.

Would she still be in the orphanage? Would she know Johnson the way she did now?

She most certainly wouldn't know Claire or Chris, and the name Jacob would mean nothing to her.

Perhaps it would've been worse. People came and went in the orphanage. Maybe she would've never been adopted.

But maybe she would've. She could've found a family. Lindsey and Kyle both had, although they were long past the prime that children were wanted. She was younger than the both of them. Would she have ever had a chance at a normal life? Or was she destined from the beginning?

It sounded dramatic in her head, but it was true. Her fate had been mapped out from the second she was born.

Her very life had stolen her mother's, and with that, the deal was sealed. Self pity wasn't attractive, but at this point, Rebecca couldn't help herself.

She finished her sobs and quieted in his arms. He kept rubbing her shoulders, and planted a soft kiss on her temple. "You feeling better now? I know it's stressful. It's only a little longer though. Two weeks and you're done."

She sniffed and sighed, not caring that her face was blotchy and her cheeks still wet. "I know. I'm almost there. But these two weeks feel like the most difficult of all. You're right, though. Two weeks, and I can go to Johnson. He'll help me get my license and a job and I can just relax for a while. It'll be a nice change."

The scent of Rebecca's steamed vegetables and rice, mingling with Jacob's sweet and sour pork made a sickening aroma. She opened the window and took a deep breath.

"Ready to study?" Jacob's eyes twinkled.

After three AM had come and passed, Rebecca was reassured that she'd pass the test. She needed to wake up at promptly nine to prepare for the exam, which started at nine thirty sharp.

She got into the shower and scrubbed her hair and skin. She hated being dirty, greasy, or in any way unclean. She loved the feel of hot water running down her, the scent of her soaps and shampoos filling the air, the white fluff of her shaving cream.

Rebecca decided to go all out in the shower, even bringing her tooth brush. She scrubbed her face, first with soap, then with an exfoliating wash, and finally caked on a wet mask, but not before she had shampooed her hair. She left the conditioner in, shaving both her legs to smooth perfection before rinsing her auburn locks. She was exhausted, but going to sleep freshly showered was such a wonderful feeling. She made sure she was hairless, then brushed her teeth rigorously, scrubbing as hard as she could. Coffee stained, and she didn't want yellow teeth.

After using a fancy body wash Johnson had gotten her for Christmas, she rinsed her mask off and packed all her stuff back into her little shower bag.

She tiptoed into her room in just a towel. Nobody in her dorm would be awake at this time, so she didn't mind.

As soon as she made it back, she realized Jacob was asleep. She kept the lights dimmed, but opened the window to make the smell of takeout leave. The July breeze was sweet, and the night was quiet.

She put on lotion carefully, not too much. She hated the dryness of her skin, but she disliked the residue lotion could leave even more.

She climbed into some pajamas and curled into bed with Jacob. He was warm, something familiar to keep her feeling safe and comforted.

She curled up next to him, soothed by his even breathing. He was so good to her. She knew he would do anything for her. He loved her.

Suddenly, she felt guilty. How could she not love him back after all he'd done for her? It was horribly selfish. She couldn't help it, but she wished she could. He deserved it, and more. He was kind, and so giving. He did so much for her, and never asked anything in return, never forced his feelings on her. He knew it and accepted it, and Rebecca felt her heart ache for the boy who did so much for her, and asked so little in return.

But at the same time, the idea of lying to him, of saying something that wasn't true to the person she cared about so deeply, rankled. She shouldn't _have_ to lie to him. It _should_ be true.

But he'd see her for the liar she was in an instant and be even more hurt by that, than any silence she gave him. She would never hurt him if she didn't have too. He was hers. He was her friend, her comrade, her buddy, her boyfriend. She may have just been a kid, but she'd been forced into adulthood early enough to know one thing.

Love couldn't be forced.

And she wouldn't force anything, not with Jacob. It would be a natural transition, it would be life. It'd be completely, one hundred percent real.

She slipped her hand into his and slept, hoping for love and for top marks on her anatomy exam.


	9. 1996

**Author's Note:**

**The beginning of the end for Billy… and Rebecca finally catches a break. **

* * *

><p>1996<p>

"This mission could take up to and over a year." The commander in front of Billy and the rest of the team looked down at them all. "I expect you to stay strong. This is the African wilderness. It will be hot, miserable, and dangerous. You will keep a stiff upper lip, strong morale, and obey my orders."

Personally, Billy despised the idiot. Chet Michaels was a shitty commander as well as a cocky asshole. But he was a higher-up, and the leader of this mission, which Billy had volunteered for.

It wasn't a short mission, which was attractive. It wasn't a clean or particularly safe mission, which he accepted.

But he was going to have to learn self control around this dick.

He was in his full uniform, his survival pack as heavy as he could stand, and he was ready. They had been traveling in the helicopter for several hours now. It was getting hotter by the moment.

"According to information we've been given, there's a battle going on between two tribes, one of which is an important asset to the United States of America!" the man proclaimed in his thick, loud voice. He was the fucking stereotype for military men.

Billy's hair was freshly buzzed, and his long sleeved shirt covered up his tattoo. It would be rough: he really could die on this one. But he devoted his life to this. He wasn't going to pussy out now.

"We will be arriving at fourteen hundred hours, men. I expect you to be ready to go."

The drop off point was more than an hour away. Billy let himself drift into sleep, just resting, really, until Michaels blew the whistle. He was immediately alert, ready to go, and sweating like a fucking pig. Christ, it was humid here.

He jumped from the helicopter as it grazed the grassy earth and followed Michaels, jogging behind him at a steady pace. He had long learned breathing techniques and to pace himself. If you fucking ran, you'd be tired in five minutes. And tired could mean dead.

He jogged silently and swiftly, keeping his gun readied. His heart was pounding from the exertion, but other than that, he was fine. As of now, their location was unknown to enemies, and Billy sure as hell hoped it'd fucking stay that way.

Their outfits blended in with the jungle, which was good. A sniper'd be able to pick 'em all out though. The drop off point was nearly a hundred miles away. It could take months to cross the distance. In this jungle, about a mile a day was good progress. Then they'd have to strategize, complete their mission, return to the starting point, and go home. And that was if they were on schedule.

In Billy's experience, on schedule was a myth in this fucking business.

This would be a very silent journey as well. They were in foreign territory, and were allied with this kingdom's enemy. Straight out warfare would not come as a surprise. They didn't need fires, not in this climate, and their MREs would suffice for sustenance. Billy didn't particularly like the piece of shit food packages that they were given, but it was a hell of a lot better than going hungry.

The only thing Billy was worried about was water. They had mapped out several routes, as well as waterways. But depending on their luck, they could get lost or ambushed.

Billy went over these in his head. He thought about strategies that would be good to go over with the commander, as soon as they settled for the night. The night came quickly as they hiked along, and the instant the commander announced they'd stop for camp, Billy could almost hear the aching muscles of each of the men.

They didn't set up tents: the dense forest would protect them from weather, and it was better to blend in. Billy drank thirstily from his canteen and watched the men settle down.

This was not a mission for new recruits: all of the soldiers here were seasoned fighters, trained specifically for situations like this, where you had to wait and be patient and just try to fucking last through the ordeal.

Billy fell asleep almost immediately after the sun set. He was exhausted: plagued with nightmares of losing Anna, of being killed in battle, of the horrible memories from past missions.

He dreamt of the times where he had to shoot women and children to disable them, when he had to follow orders against his will, keeping his mouth shut even though he knew a better way, a fucking way that could save so many goddamn lives.

He woke up late.

He was the first one up. What the hell? They should've been up before dawn. Billy searched for whoever had been on guard.

Dick Litchfield was lying in a pool of blood, his throat slit.

Billy's mind raced ahead. Dick had likely been the one on guard. Either his assailant had been skilled, or the idiot had fallen asleep, which also made everyone else susceptible to danger. But they hadn't been harmed: which meant this was a warning. From who? Obviously the enemy was advanced enough to have a strategy like this, which was bad. Very fucking bad.

This was definitely the work of a mercenary or a spy. In fact, maybe they were being watched right now.

Billy knelt down towards Michaels and shook him awake. Chet was immediately alert. Billy pointed at the fallen soldier and watched as Chet's mind roamed ahead the same way Billy's had, until he reached the same conclusion. He nodded at Billy and they quietly woke the rest of the men.

Billy took Dick's dog tags. They'd have to leave the body, but the tags would be sent to his family.

Billy didn't feel any grief for the man he hadn't known: but he felt a strange melancholy. It had already begun. He could die. Nobody could care. He would have a funeral and Rosa would go. He had other family: but they were all far away, in other states, California and Oregon and even Maine. The Coens were scattered about: he'd never met most of them.

He suddenly regretted it.

Had Dick been close to his family? Did he have children? Did he have a wife, who he loved the way Billy loved Anna?

Billy hoped he didn't. He knew all too well the pain of a stranger telling you that those you loved, died. Up and fucking left you.

He slipped the tags into his pocket and followed Chet, jogging quietly, not bothering with any breakfast. This was a danger zone: they needed to get out, and they needed to get out _now_.

The density of the trees and shrubs made it difficult to move, so after about an hour, Chet decided a ten minute break to eat would be acceptable.

Billy dug into the MRE. It was better than going hungry. Chet wasn't a bad guy, just an idiot. But maybe Billy just wasn't giving him enough credit. Maybe, over time, Chet would prove himself to Billy.

The journey was long, and would be treacherous. If the trouble had started already, Billy'd wager most of them would be dead before this fucking mission was done. Well, shit, he figured maybe three of them would be left. Himself, Chet, and a lucky sonovabitch.

He felt the dog tags weigh down one of the myriad pockets in his pants. In his other pockets he held grenades of several different types, at least twenty cases of ammo, a secondary weapon, and three knives.

He also kept a knife in his boot, a long, vicious dagger that was there in case of close hand to hand combat. Expect the unexpected, Billy told himself.

Billy was dripping with sweat after two more hours, and pretty close to hallucinating. He looked up, trying to keep the sweat from his hairline out of his eyes, and saw a flash of red. Why the fuck would there be red in the middle of the green and brown jungle? He was nuts. He was really insane. Maybe he did have PTSD. Maybe Anna leaving was slowly making him crazy.

Or maybe he wasn't, and that flash had been real. An enemy? Definitely not an animal. But enemies didn't wear obnoxious red, didn't jump from branches like a fucking silent monkey. He decided that 'crazy' was the most probable answer. He'd come to terms with being cracked years ago, and now wasn't the time to change his mind about it.

* * *

><p>Rebecca yawned and stretched out in bed. For almost a year, she'd done next to nothing, and it was absolutely heavenly. She read for enjoyment and leisure, at her own pace. She went to bed early and woke up late. Johnson nagged her to clean the house and buy groceries. She drove around with Claire, who'd finally managed to get her hands on a motorcycle, to Chris's dismay.<p>

Chris had recently been dishonorably discharged from the Air Force. Rebecca knew Claire felt terrible about it. She had nothing to do with it, but she had known her brother's temper and impetuosity would get him into trouble eventually.

The phone rang and Rebecca sighed and got up. She answered groggily. "Hello?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"Rebecca!" it was Claire. "Chris got a new job! He's a star now!"

"What's a star?" Rebecca asked curiously.

"Remember that corny old man we met in the parking lot that one time? The one who was like 'look at my picture hur hur'? Barry? Well he left the Air Force a little over a year ago, and he and this guy named Wesker and Chief Irons put together this thing called star!"

"That's awesome, but what's a star?" Rebecca asked curiously.

"Star is like… this super awesome police force thing. They're like the ninjas of the police force," Claire explained. "And they're just badass in general, and tougher. So far, Barry said there's himself, Chris, that Wesker guy, some lady named Jill, and someone named Brad. They start training next month and they're going to make the first team. Chris said if this is successful, they'll make another team. This one is called Alpha."

Alpha was the first letter of the Greek alphabet, Rebecca knew. "That's awesome, Claire!"

"And I wanna throw a party for him!" Claire finished eagerly. Rebecca laughed at her spontaneous energy. "I'm gonna invite all the people there, so they can get to know each other, and some of Chris' Air Force friends who he still talks too, and some people he knew from school, and some of our friends! You bring Jacob too, okay? I lost his number. Actually, I lost a lot of numbers. I only know yours by heart."

Rebecca laughed. The two were still best friends, despite the greater distance between them. Claire's motorcycle and Rebecca's car had shortened to distance, so it didn't matter. They were together whenever they could be. Except when Claire was at school, and Rebecca was home, doing glorious nothing.

Claire didn't begrudge her friend the relaxation time she deserved. She'd been privy to one of Rebecca's stressed out crying-fests the last week before graduation. But she had done it. She had graduated at the top of her class.

Umbrella had offered her a job, but Rebecca told them to wait until she turned twenty-one. She felt she needed time to herself, to unwind and figure out what she wanted to do with her life. and if she couldn't figure it out, she'd do what was expected of her and become a scientist for Umbrella.

"Alright, Claire," Rebecca laughed. "Sure. I'll track down the stars, and you get his Air Force buddies. I'll bring Jacob, and you bring any friends you have besides me. I, however, don't need to worry about that, being friendless."

Rebecca could almost hear Claire rolling her eyes. "Janet is your friend!" she argued.

"Janet is also in college, not as old as Chris, and not as young as us. I highly doubt she'd come, Claire," Rebecca explained. Janet had been one of the few who had befriended Rebecca in school. They had remained in touch, although Janet was twenty-one to Rebecca's sixteen.

Claire sighed. "You're impossible. Just go out more often, meet people! You met people at prom with Jacob, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but those are his friends, not mine. They only put up with me hanging around because they all know that Jacob's serious."

"Everybody knows how serious he is," Claire teased over the phone. "But to more important things, help me plan the party!"

"Alright. When is it?"

"Tomorrow!"

Rebecca burst out laughing at Claire's characteristic eagerness. "Sure. I'll go pick up some streamers and crap. What kind of party is it?"

"I dunno, I guess we'll do it outside. Do you want to pick up some burgers or wings so we can grill? This is a surprise for Chris, this is our chance, since he isn't home. He's doing something with the stars."

"I think it's really weird that your brother is a star. Does it stand for something?"

"Actually, yes! Stars is special tactics and rescue service. Chris has gone over it a million times so he won't forget."

Suddenly it made much more sense to Rebecca. _S.T.A.R.S.,_ not _stars_! "Oh! Okay. Sure, I can do that. I'll be over in about an hour then." Rebecca answered. She hung up and called Jacob.

"Hey, would you want to come to a barbeque at Claire's tomorrow?" she asked without preamble.

"Sure, what time?" he replied, seeming preoccupied.

"I actually don't know. She just called me right now. I'll call you from her house later and let you know."

"Sure, I'll come. See you then." The unspoken words were still there: Love you, bye.

She was a terrible person. Johnson reassured her that it wasn't her fault, that she was fine. She wasn't using him, or teasing him. But she couldn't help the guilt that filled her as she hung up.

She quickly scribbed a note to Johnson and left it on the counter, delighted to live with someone who cared. Since his retirement from the orphanage, he'd been working more closely with Umbrella, as a part time scientist, a path that Rebecca would likely follow.

She sighed. What did she want? She didn't know anything. Her fancy education was wasted. Sure, she was a genius, but was the point of it if she couldn't use it, if she didn't want too?

She got into the car and slowly drove to the store. She passed Emmy's and smiled. She and the Redfields had many memories there. It was also the spot of her ridiculous freak out a few years ago.

She bought the leanest burgers she could find, and decided to grab chicken wings and even ribs. Money wasn't really an object with Rebecca. She had more than she knew what to do with. She wasn't exactly someone who went shopping for anything very often, so it was always an odd experience to go out and get whatever she wanted or needed.

She paid at the register and stopped at the drugstore to pick up some colorful streamers. It was corny, but Rebecca loved them. They were so bright and pretty, reminding her of happy things like the fourth of July and birthday parties. Although, she hadn't really gone to many as a child and didn't really know what the experience was like.

She decided to grab cake mix as well. Maybe she and Claire could make cupcakes or something. Yum. Although Rebecca mostly ate healthy, she couldn't resist cake, in any form.

She settled down into the car and drove on to the Redfield home. It was a nice enough house, but the back yard was the best part. It was enormous, with a fancy grill that Claire and Rebecca had pooled their money to get Chris for his last birthday.

She parked the car and grabbed the bags, rushing into the house… when she saw Chris.

She shot Claire a look, and left the groceries outside the house, coming in empty-handed. "Hey, Chris," she greeted him nervously. "What's up? Claire told me you had work today. With S.T.A.R.S.?"

"Yup, it's this new task force only in Raccoon City! One of the members, Jill, actually moved to Raccoon City solely to join S.T.A.R.S.. It's mostly for military veterans so far. Or at least, Alpha team is. If we're successful, any other team could be newbies. They'd just need training first."

He was extremely enthusiastic. "That's great, Chris!" Rebecca said sincerely, nodding her head. "I'm glad you got such an awesome opportunity like this!"

"Are you okay, Rebecca?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "You seem a little off today."

"Oh, I'm fine!" she waved a hand nervously. She was a terrible liar. Claire was giving her dirty looks from behind Chris' back. Rebecca wanted to give her a bewildered expression in return, but Chris would see, obviously, and he'd wonder what the hell was going on.

Good thing for them, Chris was somewhat oblivious. He was great at what he did, but in social situations, good old Chris was a big Neanderthal who couldn't notice something unless it came up and smacked him right in the face.

"Alright…" he answered uneasily. "Well, okay." He walked upstairs. The second he was out of earshot Rebecca rushed to get the bags and hid them, quietly as she could.

"What was that?" Claire hissed in her ear, watching the stairs.

"It was me being an awful liar," Rebecca replied in dismay. "Good thing for us, he wouldn't notice anything. It'll be a great surprise for him tomorrow. He deserves it. This really was a great idea, Claire." She flattered her friend.

Claire rolled her eyes and gave her an impish grin. "I know. I already called everyone. I finished the second he got home. It was a close call. I told him I was talking to you and told you to come over. He was probably confused by how you got here so quickly."

Rebecca grinned. "Magic?" she teased. "Look, I bought cake mix…"


	10. 1997

**Author's Note:**

**We're almost at the first meeting: I can't wait AHH. **

**Thanks for the reviews everybody, and to everyone who's favorited and subscribed. Thanks!**

* * *

><p>1997<p>

The nightmares were impossible to battle off. Even with Anna's renewed help, Billy's snatches of sleep were riddled with the terrible memories.

Every night, even closing his eyes meant reliving the whole ordeal. He slammed himself against the soft, white walls of his new home and shouted for his freedom.

They thought he was insane.

The asylum was a place Billy never thought he'd have to go too. He'd considered it, sure, spoken to shrinks and priests and everything in between, but fucking in a asylum, wrapped up like a hoagie for sale? Sedated every five minutes?

God, he was haunted by it. Despite the injections, he could never get more than a few snatches of sleep before his own screams woke him.

"_What?" Billy asked in disbelief, not caring that he was loud, not caring that an enemy could hear. "This isn't a village at war!"_

_It was impossible. They had to be in the wrong area. But according to the map, they were exactly where they were supposed to be._

_All but four of them were left: himself, Chet, and two others, Robert Damon and Joe Lowman. Their trek had continued in silence, the way they were ordered, until they reached their destination._

_But none of them expected a tiny, peaceful little village._

"_This is impossible," Chet hissed angrily. He kept his gun out and continued down to the village. Billy released his hold on his. There's no way he would've run in there waving a fucking gun around. _

_They made it to the square, and some people seemed extremely unnerved by the white men with guns. _

"_Alright everybody! We want information!" Chet screamed, gesturing for them to gather._

"_What the hell are you doing?" Billy demanded, glaring at his superior. "These are innocent villagers. We can call a chopper here. We were obviously given wrong information!"_

_Chet ignored him. "Now!"_

"_They don't even speak English!" Billy shouted, his anger getting the better of him. _

_Robert and Joe stood behind Chet. Billy felt rage bubble over him. They were going to threaten and cow foreigners because they were pissed? Innocent people? "What the hell are you gonna do?" _

_The few terrified people who hadn't run into their homes were gathered in a tight circle, clinging to each other in terror, crying and screaming, pointing at the men and shouting their fear in some language Billy didn't know._

_The sun beat down on Billy and he was ready to fight. He wanted to kill the weak bastard. Chet, throughout the time they'd been together in the group, hadn't once proved himself a capable leader to Billy._

_He fucking despised him._

_Chet cocked his gun. "Where!" he screamed, insane with the rage and heat and losing his men, the thought of looking like a fool back home overpowering his thoughts._

_He aimed his gun…_

"_Stop!" Billy yelled, feeling helpless. "No!" The first few bullets were released from the other two's guns. "Cease fire immediately!" He couldn't exactly stop Chet from firing his own gun without leaping in the goddamn way._

_He tried, though. _

_Billy put himself in front of the line of fire, and Chet swiveled his gun, pointing it at Billy. Billy stood his ground, ready for Chet to shoot him in desperation: maybe it'd bring him too his senses._

_But instead, in one smooth, fluid motion, Chet turned his gun around and slammed the butt against Billy's temple, his thick helmet not blocking the blow. "Shut up!"_

_He fell to the ground in a haze of pain and tried his hardest to stay awake. He __**couldn't**__ fucking go down __**now**__!_

_He watched as Chet, Joe, and Robert aimed their weapons at the innocent, hysterical people. Billy wanted to do something, but the blow robbed him of his senses, of his ability to move. He was paralyzed, horrified._

_Quickly, one by one, even two by two, the villagers went down, blood staining the dirt streets and the houses around them, covering each other's clothing and skin in the wet, despicable substance that smelled like rust and pain. Agonized screams filled Billy's head and he tried to get up, he fucking tried, but everything faded, until there was nothing but black, the scent of blood, and the screams that dragged on forever…_

"_Get up," Chet kicked Billy viciously. Billy came too slowly. Just a dream, right?_

_He opened his eyes and figured out he was fucking tied up like a thanksgiving turkey. "What the fuck is this?" Billy spat._

"_You killed twenty-three people. You went nuts when we found out that this was a peaceful village, and destroyed their lives. You depleted all your ammo in doing so. You're insane."_

"_What the fuck!" Billy demanded, his eyes narrowing, his vision red with rage and the blood all around him. "You selfish fucking murderous bastards. I may not have fucking killed them but I'll sure as hell kill you!" he spat._

"_We tried to subdue you, Billy, but you were out of control," Robert sneered._

_Joe remained silent. It's what drove Billy off the edge. "You fucking killed them to save face! If I 'go crazy' and on a fucking rampage, then you guys can take the credit for rescuing them. So this won't have been a total failure as a mission." Billy realized, the words dripping off his tongue like poison._

_He felt Dick's dog tags in his pocket._

"_Wrong," Chet smirked, pleased with this game. "You went crazy and killed them. We tried to stop you Billy, but you're a big guy, __**Lieutenant**__. You were nearly impossible to overpower. We're lucky we stopped you before you did any more damage. The chopper's gonna pick us up here, along with officers to restrain you and your… murderous tendencies. Maybe you should've listened to the doctor. She could've helped you get your crazies out." Chet pretended to frown sadly, then sniggered. "Good old Samuel Regan is coming along too, to try you."_

_Billy knew what that meant. He'd be court-martialed and tried. But Billy was a devoted officer. How could they believe stress could kill him after all the times he'd served?_

_Samuel Regan?_

_He'd met the man twice. One of those times had been before he joined the Marines, one day at school, when he was just a kid._

_Charlene's dad. Fucking spoiled little Charlene Regan was the daughter of the man who held Billy's life in his hands. After Billy had fucking humiliated Charlene and left her in bed._

_He wondered if Regan knew about it. _

_Either way, Billy was probably going to fucking die._

"Shh, Billy, it's all okay, I'm here." Anna soothed Billy.

"Why did you come back?" Billy asked, breathing heavily, sweating from the memories of the heat, of the pressure.

"I'm strongest when you need me most, Billy. And you really do need me now."

Billy scoffed. "I don't need you. I'll probably be joining you soon."

"Billy, the more you talk to me, the more they think you're crazy."

"Crazy, or dead. This is a fucking tough choice. What do I do when they realize I'm not one of the crazy inmates?"

"Then the sentence assigned to you when you were court-martialed is fulfilled. Execution."

"Ex-Lieutenant Billy Coen executed." Billy rolled his eyes. "I wonder if they fucking broadcasted this shit. The media gobbles up this bullshit."

"No, they'd keep this one quiet, I think," Anna said thoughtfully. "They probably don't need to tell America that a Lieutenant went nuts on a rampage and could've caused a war."

"Could this really have caused a war?" Billy asked, thinking about fucking Chet's immediate decision to annihilate the village. He shuddered at the memory, trying to suppress the flood of emotions that came with it.

"I have no idea. You're the Marine, I'm the dead girl you talk too," Anna answered sarcastically.

"Little bitch," he answered, rolling his eyes. But he couldn't help but smile at Anna.

"What a way to talk to me," she shot back, trying to coax him into a laugh.

And he did laugh. The situation was beyond ridiculous. He was fucking blamed for the murder of twenty-three fucking people in a foreign country, in an asylum, with Anna bright and perky as ever with him.

"So if you only come when I'm fucked up, maybe I need to screw up more often," Billy reflected.

"Billy, don't look at it that way. Look at it like… I'm a guardian angel that only comes when you need assistance. When everything's okay, you don't need me."

He shrugged. "Well, with this shit, I'm pretty much fucked till I die. So no more goodbyes for us, Anna."

"That's a bad thing," she pointed out touchily.

"Not for me," he answered, laughing cheerfully until he fucking felt a prick in his neck.

Fucking sedatives would kill him.

"Rebecca, this'll be fine! If you're a field medic with Chris Redfield, then that'll give you experience to try both ends of the spectrum!" Johnson told her, his white hair looking shockingly bright. "Then you can decide if you want a job with Umbrella or if you like the adventure of being a field medic."

Rebecca chewed her tongue nervously. "I guess I'm more nervous to meet that guy Wesker, and Chief Irons seems really scary too."

"Then this'll toughen you up," Johnson encouraged his young friend, his surrogate daughter. "If it's too much, you can quit!"

"I'm tough!" Rebecca replied indignantly.

"And anyway, the young Redfield mentioned you'd be going through rigorous training first. You aren't just going to be thrown out into the field."

That did reassure Rebecca. She was in the car with Johnson as he drove her to the police station. She was going to meet Chris there.

Several weeks ago, she had mentioned needing a job. Telling Chris about the offer from Umbrella, he offered for her to come join S.T.A.R.S., on the newest team, Bravo. She didn't need any experience: training would be provided.

She had reluctantly agreed to think about it, and in Chris's mind, that meant "Okay! Let's do it!"

So she was on her way to meet Wesker, the captain Chris both respected and hated. He sounded intimidating. She wondered what he'd be like. Tall and brawny, probably. She imagined him with dark hair and eyes like an eagle, glaring her down.

Johnson parked. "You're going home with Chris, right?" he asked Rebecca as she got out of the car.

"Yes, thank you for the ride, Johnson." She smiled at her mentor and he gave her a gentle one in return, waving as he drove away.

Taking a deep breath, Rebecca walked into the station. She walked straight to the S.T.A.R.S. office and smiled at the noisy room, filled to the brim with paperwork.

"Hey, Rebecca!" Chris grinned at her and reintroduced her to his teammates. There was Jill, who she'd met at the barbeque party Claire had thrown for Chris last year, Barry, who she'd met, and a shy, friendly man named Brad, who Rebecca hadn't met.

He ushered her over to a closed office door. "This is Wesker. Just introduce yourself and it'll be fine."

Rebecca was utterly confused when Chris shoved her into Wesker's office and closed the door quietly behind him.

The man sitting behind the desk, with the label _Captain Albert Wesker_ wore black sunglasses that completely hid his eyes, contrasting with his dark blonde hair and marble skin. She wondered if it were as cold as the stone.

His outfit consisted of all black, and he had several guns hanging about the room.

He didn't look up as she arrived.

"Hi-Hello?" she asked quietly, wondering if he heard her come in. He remained busily silent.

"Hello?" she asked more loudly.

"We will not be getting anywhere with this interview if you do not introduce yourself, miss." The slow dry voice captivated her, with a slight accent that wasn't anything except… Wesker.

"Um… my name—" she faltered. "I'm Rebecca Chambers, and I'm here to apply for the position as a medic for S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team?" she ended the statement with a slight jump at the end, as if she were asking him permission. This man was beyond intimidating.

He paused for a moment to look at her before continuing his paperwork. "Continue?" he asked her, almost lazily, and definitely condescendingly.

"Uhm. I'm seventeen years old, and have no other engagements, so I can start right away," she rambled, shoving all the information at him. This Wesker was completely terrifying. "I graduated from Raccoon University at age fifteen with a degree in biochemistry. Here's my application, my references, my resume, and my documents."

She held her breath.

The man barely gave her copies a second look. "Leave them here. Come in tomorrow and meet with Barry Burton to begin your training. Promptly at seven AM. I do not tolerate lateness." He added, almost as an afterthought.

She nodded quickly and raced from the room. Chris was waiting at the door: she almost hit him in her rush.

She quiet closed the door and saw that everyone was staring at her.

She sighed in relief, and Jill grinned at her. "Welcome aboard, Rebecca. I hope he didn't scare you too badly in there."

"Terrorized me," Rebecca corrected with a smile.

Barry boomed a laugh. "So I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow, Rebecca!" he grinned at her proudly. "We take pride in being a team of interesting people! Hope you're up to compete with us!"

She grinned at Chris and answered him: "I know I can beat Chris any day," she boasted, completely lying.

Brad chuckled and Chris grabbed Rebecca, giving her a noogie. "Chris, that's my hair!" she objected laughing.

"What, you going out with Jacob tonight? No need for you to look all pretty."

"I look pretty _all_ the time," Rebecca corrected him teasingly. "Are you implying something, Chris?"

Her friend threw up his hands in surrender. "Of course not, you know me, just can't keep my mouth shut," he joked.

She laughed happily. "You're taking me home, Chris."

"Why don't you call Claire and ask her to pick you up? I'm actually swamped with paperwork right now," he admitted sheepishly.

"That's what you get for procrastination," she mocked.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, big shot college girl."

Rebecca snorted at him. "Okay big shot Alpha man."

"Hear that, Jill?" he flirted with his coworker. "Alpha male."

The young woman rolled her eyes. "Right, partner. Why don't you alpha male yourself into killing the spider that just crawled onto my desk." She replied sarcastically.

He puffed up his chest. "Well—"

Rebecca elbowed him. "How about it, _Chris_," she emphasized, knowing how much the tough, macho man hated being called to kill spiders for her. Claire killed spiders, he reasoned, so why couldn't Rebecca?

But for Jill, he exaggeratedly strutted over and squashed the ugly little creature crawling on the side of her desk. "Anything for you, partner."

Barry grinned. "Save it for another time and place, you guys!" he scolded, chuckling.

Rebecca had a delighted look on her face along with Barry. "Yeah, another time and place!" she shot the young man a teasing look, which both he and Jill ignored.

Claire was right, as usual. Chris did like to flirt with Jill. Not that she blamed him.

Chris had been chronically single for the time Rebecca had known him. He'd had a few dates, seen a couple girls, probably had sex with some of them, but he'd never brought home a girlfriend to introduce to she and Claire.

And Jill was beautiful. Rebecca studied her covertly, watching the young woman. She had a beanie flung across her desk, revealing a bob of soft, straight brown hair and wide-set light blue eyes. Her face was classically pretty, but with a strength inside that belied her joking request about the spider. She had a light tan, and wore a lovely blue, which brought out her eyes, and a strong, feminine body, with a chest three times the size of Rebecca's.

Rebecca felt a twinge of envy at the thought of Jill's likely cup size, but brushed it away. Jacob liked her as she was, and that was really all that mattered. She wasn't trying to impress anyone.

What she liked about Jill was that she obviously wasn't either.

Of course, there could be nothing between the two partners, but Rebecca took any chance she could to tease Chris.

If she told Claire, poor Chris would never hear the end of it.

It was immature, it was presumptuous, and it was _evil_. So Rebecca would keep it to herself... for now. But if anything did happen, tomorrow or years from now, she'd be ready with an "I knew it" gloat.

She called Claire and waved goodbye to the Alpha Team members, and mentally prepared herself for what most likely lay ahead: brutal workouts, more midnight study sessions, and a chance to prove herself as a mature, capable woman. The woman she knew she was, if she could only have a chance to show the world.


	11. 1998

**Author's Note:**

**I'm so happy they're finally meeting. It's gonna be a bumpy road from here on out, though... **

* * *

><p>1998<p>

Fucking sentenced.

Samuel Regan, Charlene's dear old daddy, sentenced him to death. After everyone decided that no, Billy was not insane, they decided to kill him. He was a fucking murderer after all.

Billy had spent over a year in that padded room. It had been hell.

Now, he was in the fucking car, handcuffed, while two idiots drove him to his execution site.

Billy didn't know where the hell he was and he didn't particularly care. Why did he need to know? Apparently his whole life had been screwed from the beginning: putting up with Charlene as a kid, hell in itself, losing Anna, losing his grandparents, losing his mother, losing his mind, losing his fucking job, and now losing his life.

Billy was a loser.

He'd tried to be a giver: he'd spoiled Anna, helped his grandparents, fucking served the United States of America, he fucked Charlene, he tried to save the lives of all those twenty-three people.

And it just didn't work out for him.

The trees and rocks and grass all seemed to be a dull shade of gray outside his tinted window. Billy was dressed in plain jeans and a wife beater: luckily for him, they decided an orange jumpsuit was overboard.

He looked like a normal person: his hair had long since grown back from Africa's buzz cut, his clothing was normal. But the tattoo sliding up his arm and the handcuffs around his wrists sort of ruined the image.

Billy had been in the car for god-knew how long. The cops up front chattered on about stupid shit, as if Billy couldn't hear them, wouldn't get annoyed by them. He sighed and looked out the window.

It felt unreal, his death. As if being told meant it was just a joke, a phony prediction from a fortune teller, maybe. As if knowing made it somehow dreamlike, an illusion. He was still crazy, locked up in the padded room, screaming out his nightmares, being fucking sedated and letting a fucking shrink yabber on for hours at a time.

Christ, he was sick of that shit. This was a relief: at least it was a change of scenery from white on white on white.

He watched the trees roll by as they drove on, until it became dark. And of course, they were lost.

"Jesus Christ, can't do you do anything right?" Billy burst out in frustration.

One officer turned to face him with a scowl. "Shut up, convict. Why don't you read the map and tell us where the hell we are." He sneered sarcastically.

He held the map in front of Billy's face tauntingly, but Billy read it seriously. "We're in the fucking Arklay mountains, dumbfuck, about twenty miles east of where you're supposed to be driving."

The officer looked a little dumbstruck and quickly read the map himself. "He's right," he told his partner, a little sheepish. "Call in and say Billy Coen's gonna be late for his little party."

Billy sucked his teeth in irritation.

"Calm down, Billy," Anna scolded him weakly.

He immediately did. "Don't waste your energy!" he told her immediately. When Billy had begun to accept his death, Anna had started to fade again. Fucking hell.

The officers gave their location and tried to turn around. Billy heard barking, or growling or something and wondered who the hell would have hunting dogs out at this time of night.

"What the hell is that?" he demanded as the sound got closer. The officers began to drive, putting on their lights.

The officers seemed as puzzled as he. "Not sure,"

The one riding shotgun rolled down his window and looked out the window. "Dogs!" he exclaimed the obvious. "But they look all weird. I guess these are hunting dogs. They're covered in blood."

Billy was uncomfortable enough with the handcuffs restricting him. He didn't need to hear about grumpy dogs covered in blood. He was really not in the fucking mood.

He felt the car swerve violently. "What the fuck!" he yelled, beyond irritated at this point.

"The fucking dogs are attacking the tires!" the driver yelled in panic. "What the hell is this?" he sped up, and Billy saw the dogs following. He tried to get a better look at the dog, and noticed with dawning horror that the dog had ripped patches of skin where blood flowed freely.

"They're crazy! They have fucking rabies or some shit!" Billy shouted in disgust.

"How-"

The driver's exclamation was cut off by his swerve, which knocked the car onto its side, crashing it as Billy added this to his fucking list of car accidents.

The truck was skewed to its side, and Billy felt his face for cuts.

Then he realized that his cuffs had broken.

The side of the van was open and he climbed out. "Are you guys alive?" he demanded, just before he saw the dogs eating the throats of the two officers.

This was not fucking real. This was something out of a fucking horror movie. There was no way rabid dogs attacked people like this. This was a fucking joke.

Billy accidentally kicked something hard: a handgun. He picked it up, silently as he could. He needed that thing.

He checked the ammo. It was full, good thing.

He turned around and booked ass, getting as far away as he could until the dogs noticed his scent leading away. Fucking hell.

He raced through the trees. This was nothing compared to Africa. He could handle this. As long as the dogs gave him a little headstart he'd be fine.

Billy almost ran right smack into the hunk of shit. A train? A fucking train in the middle of the forest?

Billy ignored the ridiculous nature of it and climbed in. What he saw brought back a flashback so strong, Anna came back full force, coaxing him.

"Come on, Billy, get up, get up and get out, you're not in Africa, you have a chance to live now, but you have to get up, come on sweetheart," she coaxed him gently.

But Billy couldn't hear. He was reliving it again: the blood splattering on the dirt, the child crying as her mother's intestines spilled onto her face, the horrible pain of watching but not being able to move, but he had to move, he had to move _now_.

With effort, Billy forced himself up, panting and sweating, his heart pounding a mile a minute. But as his sweat permeated the air, a man got up.

"Oh thank god," Billy was relieved. "A rabid dog just attacked—"

But the man wasn't a man. The skin on his face was mere fleshy ribbons: his eyes were dull and brown. Blood covered his brown suit, and there were gaping holes where limbs and skin should've been.

The creature let out an unearthly moan and started for Billy clumsily, fixtated on nothing else as it tripped and stumbled over to him.

Billy stood and backed away, aiming carefully with his gun until the creature got too close—

and fell, a bullet hole between his eyes.

Billy breathed a sigh of relief as he realized none of the other people were getting up.

He ran to a room that was free of creatures and breathed a sigh of relief. What the hell had that been? A fucking dead man started walking. Rabid dogs, zombie men, what the hell was next?

He heard a rustling noise and raised his gun, stepping forward slowly, carefully. Only one, he listened.

He turned around the corner and instead of another creature, there was a young girl, rifling through papers.

She stood when she heard his arrival and noticed the gun, a calculating look in her eyes.

She was small, with pixie hair and weapons in her belt. She looked strong, with small muscles in her arms. She was obviously fit, and her green eyes assessed him.

"Billy," she tried the name out in her mouth. He raised the gun higher. "Lieutenant Coen…"

She knew who he was. _Fuck_. His mind raced for something, anything to latch onto. "So…" he said slowly. "You seem to know me. Been fantasizing about me, have you?"

A flush of pink tinged her cheeks. He lowered his gun and noticed the emblem on her shirt. "You're with S.T.A.R.S…" he realized. "Well, your kind doesn't seem to want me around, honey. So I'd better go."

The last thing he fucking needed was a cop on his dick, not with everything else going on. What if he had another attack?

"Wait!" the girl followed him, and seeing her face more clearly, he realized she was young. She didn't look old enough to drink in a bar. "You're under arrest!"

He almost laughed at the image of this tiny little girl taking him into custody. Had she seen that fucking thing? "Sorry, dollface," he replied, walking away, preparing himself to face any more creatures that'd come his way. "But I've already worn handcuffs."

He showed her his arm, still decorated with the fucking things, and walked away.

"I could shoot you know!" her voice lacked conviction. She knew as well as he did that she wouldn't be able to bring him down.

He realized the instant that he walked into the room that it was a mistake. Four creatures launched up at him, slowly reaching for him with their curling, cold fingers, and he fired four neat shots. He did not want to waste his ammo at a time like this.

He searched around, hoping for ammo. Why would there be ammo here? There shouldn't. But this looked like a richie train, and rich people carried guns. They liked feeling as if their property was protected.

Somehow Billy managed to find a half-empty case of bullets in the overhead, where luggage was kept. Hell of a lot better than nothing.

He strode into the room and saw the girl there, looking tired and terrified.

"Help her, Billy!" Anna's voice in his head implored. "Look at her! She's just my age. You _have_ to help her out. She'll probably die without it!"

Billy couldn't bear the thought of another life being lost. Not while he was around to fucking stop it. "Look," he said, thinking quickly. "It's gonna be dangerous from here on in. We've got no chance of doing this alone. If we want to get out of this hell-hole, then we're gonna have to work together."

Despite her delicate appearance, the girl immediately rejoined: "You? You're a wanted criminal! I don't need _your_ help!"

He snorted. "Yeah right, little girl—"

"I can handle this on my own. And don't _call_ me little girl!" she snapped at him. He climbed the steps and leaned over to her, reaching out to fluff her hair, mockingly. She pulled away and glared up at him.

"Alright then, what should I call you?" he asked impatiently.

"My _name_ is Rebecca Chambers. So you can call me _Officer_ Chambers." She insisted.

He rolled his eyes at her stubbornness. "All right… _Rebecca_. Here, why don't _you_ go out there and fight some creatures, while I stay right here."

He'd count to sixty then go out and save her ass.

"Better do thirty," Anna advised him distantly.

She walked out the door and damned if he made it to twenty before her scream broke out.

A creature stood in front of her, reaching down for her. She had dropped her gun and was scooting away from the creature, keeping her eyes on him while feeling around for her weapon.

Billy ran up and grabbed onto the railing, kicking the creature away from her, and hopped down, turning around to help her up when suddenly, the zombie fell apart, disintegrating into thousands of leeches, leaping off the body frame, moving more quickly than Billy could see.

Rebecca and Billy backed away, but they swarmed, until suddenly they were crawling up Rebecca's body, their fat little bodies covered with strange patches of skin that looked like eyes, glaring at them.

Panicking, Billy didn't know what else to do and he aimed a shot at one of the leeches at her side.

As his bullet grazed her waist, the creatures leapt off and away, except for two, who flew towards Billy.

Billy focused and aimed at them, jumping to get a better shot. He sighed. "Are you all right, Rebecca?" he asked her, leaning down and checking her side, to see if he had hit her.

She turned away, looking tired, and shot him the thumbs up.

Who the hell was this kid?

"What's that?" she asked.

"What?"

"_Listen_," she told him quietly, and looked out the window at the storm that was beginning.

A high pitched sound was coming from outside, sounds that were almost… singing.

He followed Rebecca's gaze out the window and searched for an explanation, until he felt a jolt.

"Who the hell was that?" he demanded.

Rebecca looked as confused as he was. "What's going on with the train?"

"Go check out the first engine car," he instructed her, deciding what to do. "See if anything funny is up. Listen!" he called as she ran away, obeying orders. "We've got to cooperate with each other from now on."

She hesitated. "Well-" she began smartly.

"Clue in, girl!" Billy rolled his eyes with frustration. "Or maybe you like being worm bait!"

She conceded, but had to add: "Fine… but remember, I _will_ shoot you if you try anything funny." She warned him, planting her hands on her hips."

"Yeah yeah, now lemme take this. Call me if anything funny is up," he took a walkie-talkie from her waist and she nodded.

He was starting to like this girl. She took fucking orders.

Rebecca fiddled with the cart. It had taken a lot of effort to make her way up here, and she knelt down, the wind whipping at her, connecting the wires when suddenly she was forced backwards, breaking into a hole.

She groaned as her head pounded from the ungraceful landing. She pulled herself up, rubbing her head. No zombies, no leeches here. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The stress of tonight had been close to overwhelming. This was her first mission since she finished training with Barry and the rest of Bravo team, and she was excited. At least, until she had read Billy's file, until she had encountered the creatures…

Until she had watched Edward die, and been attacked by the very same dogs that had killed him.

Rebecca tried to open the door, but it was locked. She shoved it with all her weight, but it was useless. It was locked from the outside.

Frustrated beyond belief, terrified, exhausted, and miserable, Rebecca slumped down against the door and began to sob. She was so tired. Why did this have to happen? This couldn't be real. This was insanity. This was a stupid horror movie that Claire liked to watch.

She should be at home with Johnson right now, or spending time with Jacob: precious little time, since he had opted to go far off to college. He and Claire both…

She should be calling them, or training with Chris, or learning a technique from Barry, or doing paper work with Jill. Right now, she should be with Richard, laughing at his stupid jokes or listening to Edward and Enrico talk about strategies. She should be hiding from Wesker, whose office was right next to Rebecca's desk.

She shouldn't be here with a criminal, locked in a room, on a moving train infested with zombies. She shouldn't be obeying orders from a convict. Sniffing, she wiped her tears away and steadied her voice. "Billy!" she asked through the walkie talkie. "I'm stuck in a room near the engine. The door is locked from the outside. Can you come open the door?"

She imagined him smirking, or leaving her behind to die, escaping. But instead, an answer came. "On my way."

Relief came over her. But then, hesitation. How could she trust his word? He had killed two dozen people! She _couldn't_ trust him!

The whole situation seemed so hopeless that she almost began to cry. If she called her teammates, what would happen? She was on a moving train! She'd be an incompetent idiot. She couldn't bear the thought of that.

She'd think of a way out of this. Eventually. She let the tears drip down her cheeks quietly until the door opened.

"Rebecca?" Billy looked down at her. She noticed with pleasure that he used her name, rather than a stupid, mocking endearment.

She stood up immediately and wiped away any tears. "Thanks," she said.

And she meant it.

He'd saved her life twice now, as if it were natural. With nothing expected in return. Her eyes shone again and her throat felt thick. "Let's go," she brushed past him quickly, not seeing the odd, concentrated look Billy gave her.

He followed her down the hall and into the engine room. She opened the door and immediately ran to the panel. "This train is either going to derail or crash," Billy scanned the information in front of them. "We have to stop this thing."

"Derailing is better than crashing," she agreed. "I'll go to the back deck and manipulate the control panel. You stay here and I'll call you when I tell you to apply the break, got it?" she was business-like and ready to face those creatures on her own now. She had to be strong now. She owed to Billy. He had already saved her life twice. She didn't want to be a terrible partner, after he'd done so much for her.

Even after she'd wanted to arrest him.

Feeling guilty, she opened the door to one of the compartments. A zombie lay there, and got up slowly. She aimed her gun and prepared to shoot it, steadying her nerves when she cried out.

"Edward!"

_Rebecca watched Coen leave with a sigh. She had known he wouldn't shoot her, and he had known she wouldn't arrest him. Not now, not in the insanity. These creatures running around, men and women rising up from seeming death: it was horror._

_She turned around when she heard a crash. If it was another creature, she was prepared to kill it. She swiveled and saw it wasn't a monster, it was Edward, Edward from her team, from work, from doing paperwork for Wesker and riding in the helicopter…_

"_Rebecca!" he croaked as she knelt down next to him. "These demons, monsters, you have to watch out!"_

"_Edward, please say you're okay," she begged, despite his wounds. She was the medic, it was her job to heal him, but she couldn't stitch his wounds right now. She was close to panicking._

_But his pulse was gone. She fought the urge to cry with her confusion. What was going on? Who did this too him?_

_But her question was answered a moment later as two dogs leapt inside, breaking the windows in the process. Before they could attack, she fired, repeatedly. She just kept shooting until they stayed down. She didn't want to take any chances. Not now. Not after watching Edward die._

"Stop!" she ordered the creature coming towards her. "Stop or I'll shoot!"

Edward didn't halt as he reached out for her until finally, she fired.

Edward fell and Rebecca stifled her hysteria, having to kill her comrade after watching him die. She stepped over him, careful not to touch him. She didn't want to step on him. That'd be the ultimate disrespect. And he didn't deserve that after all he'd gone through.

She made her way to the back, her path surprisingly clear of creatures. She sighed in relief. "Alright Billy!" she yelled into her walkie talkie. "Pick up! I'm at the control panel as we speak, over!"

"Pulling the break now," he grunted back, and Rebecca felt the immediate grind of gears as Billy pulled the brake. She ran inside, fast as she could, trying to get to Billy before the train derailed. She calculated that she had about a minute, and ran as fast as she could.

Unfortunately, this time, three creatures rose in her way. Rebecca leapt back as the formerly immobile bodies suddenly stood and came for her. Falling backwards, she shot all three of them down. She didn't care if they were dead or alive as she ran past them, only caring that they were down and out of the way.

She almost made it too, when the train tipped over and Rebecca crashed into the window, glass cutting into her, the friction burning her as the train slowly ground to a halt…


	12. Discoveries

**Author's Note:**

**They met and it was beautiful. **

**From here on out, things will be slightly AU. I'm changing the layout of their journey, for maximum bonding. Their relationship could've gone a lot further in RE0 and Umbrella Chronicles, so this is how I would want it to be. **

**The outcome will still be the same, I'm just switching up a few things. I have RE0 and UC on my computer, so I was going to follow the plots basically exactly, but then I figured, why? When I could blend them and add some different stuff and see what happens?**

**The characters decide what's going to happen, not me. **

* * *

><p><strong>Discoveries. <strong>

Billy groaned and got up, his head pounding. He checked himself for injuries. Besides major mental scarring, he'd be fine. Then he remembered Rebecca.

"Hello!" he shouted. "Rebecca?" he was worried suddenly, about the girl. Had she remained on the back deck with the train derailed? Was she alive? Unconscious? Panic flooded him. "Rebecca!" he shouted frantically. "Rebecca! Are you okay?"

He heard a crash of glass and saw something climbing up from the train. Quickly, he checked his gun for ammo and aimed at the figure, when he realized it was Rebecca. He ran towards the side. She looked injured: spots of blood soaked her shirt, and he saw she had glass in her hair. He held out his arms. "Come on!" he yelled.

He saw her indecision, and amused, wondered which she'd pick: pride or wisdom. She was injured and it was a long way up, but letting him catch her would wound her ego.

She leapt from the top of the train and landed inches from his legs. She landed awkwardly, falling in the process. He snorted a laugh. He should've known the girl'd pick pride.

"Lemme help," he knelt down next to her and shoved her shoulder down, getting her head lower so he could pick the glass out.

"I could do it myself," she replied, annoyed. "I _am_ a medic."

"So that's why S.T.A.R.S. picked you out, little girl. I was wondering when the force started hiring kids."

"I'm eighteen," she snapped as his fingers grazed her scalp. "Not a kid."

"How did you manage to skip out of going to school?" he asked curiously, picking through her downy-soft hair for bits of glass, touching her warm skin gently.

"I didn't!" she answered, indignant. "I graduated when I was fifteen."

"Wait, what?" he demanded.

"I started at eleven. I'm a genius," she boasted. "Well, I'm really smart. Obviously I'm not a genius or I wouldn't be in this mess," she drooped.

He continued playing with her pixie-cut hair, although all the glass was out already. "Genius or not, nobody could've known about this," he told her softly.

She shrugged. "Is all the glass out yet?" she asked, moving away. "I'm bleeding really badly."

He noticed the cuts up and down her arm. "You're a medic, do you have what we need to fix this?"

She nodded. "Yeah, in my belt." She pulled out gauze, tape, and first aid spray.

She took off her shirt. Billy was surprised at her all-business precision. Her deep black sports bra covered everything, but he'd have figured her for a girl of extreme modesty.

Of course, then he noticed how her cheeks were bright red as she vigorously sprayed and attempted to wrap her arm. She clumsily tried, but watching her, Billy took the gauze and wrapped it around her, cutting it with his teeth.

This brought his face extremely close to her body, and he could feel her furious blush getting hotter every second. He ignored it and taped her wound.

She quickly pulled her shirt back on, wet bloodstains and all, and stood up, her attitude contrasting with her pink cheeks.

Billy watched in her in amusement, but his cheerful attitude quickly faded as her walkie-talkie buzzed.

"This is Rebecca, over!" she cried, answering the call immediately.

"Rebecca!" the loud, gruff voice called from the device. "Where are you? Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir, I'm fine. I'm not quite sure where I am, but I'll make my way to the rendezvous point, sir, over."

"Have you managed to find Coen?"

Rebecca stiffened visibly as she answered. "N-no sir, I have not. I'll continue my search for him, over."

Billy was suddenly overcome with gratitude. He hadn't even given a thought to her teammates. And she had just lied to them—for him. "Why did you do that?" he asked carefully.

She gave him a look he couldn't quite recognize. Then, slowly: "I guess… because I don't think you should get arrested."

Hope filled Billy. If she thought he shouldn't be arrested, maybe she didn't believe he'd killed those people.

Billy suddenly felt the urge to live. Not to sit around and wait for Anna, not to mope around, not to stay around and wait for the Marines to kill him.

He wanted to do things because he liked them, not because they filled up time. It was the worst epiphany to have in the middle of a fucking horror movie, but he couldn't help it.

How did one girl bring that out in him?

_Because she just saved your ass_, he reminded himself.

"But remember," she added primly. "If you try anything funny, I _will_ shoot you."

He rolled his eyes.

The second they had begun moving, a creature crawled out of the train.

"A giant fucking scorpion?" Billy demanded furiously. "You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

Rebecca's eyes were wide as she backed away. "Billy!" she hissed. "We've got to run! Now!"

She tugged at his arm and with a final glance at the giant creature, Billy ran behind her, wondering how the hell they weren't dead yet.

He ran until Rebecca stopped, panting, leaning against a wall. "I don't know how we've made it this long," she admitted quietly to him.

Billy was surprised to hear her voicing his own thoughts.

"Edward—he was my teammate- died on the train. I found him right after the first time I saw you. And he died," tears were pouring down Rebecca's cheeks and she wiped them away with an angry gesture. "I don't mean to heap my problems on you. I just—how didn't he make it? We have, why couldn't he?" she wept, trying to stifle her pain.

Billy's heart went out to her. He remembered feeling the same way after his mother died.

She'd made it the first accident, so why not the second?

Gruffly, he pulled her to his chest and patted her back, feeling insanely inadequate. This proud little girl wouldn't take his pity—or know his empathy.

But as if she always had to defy what he thought of her, she leaned into his embrace, just for a moment, as if taking strength from his frame. He realized how small she was, how fucking tiny. Her head brushed his chest and he'd be surprised if she weighed over ninety pounds. She pulled away after an instant, so quickly that if he hadn't known better, he would've thought he imagined her taking comfort from him.

But he did know better. And he had comforted her. It was a strange experience for Billy, to feel something for another human being. Her tears clung to her dark brown lashes and made them spike together. Her cheeks were pink from her emotion, and she sighed shakily.

Billy took a piece of gauze from her belt and gently wiped her face.

She allowed him, and when he finished mopping her tears, she turned away. "Thank you," she whispered quietly, in a tone Billy couldn't name.

"We should probably head somewhere. With our luck, there are gonna be more fucking creatures popping up at any second." He replied, ignoring her gratitude. He was surprised at his own behavior.

He wished Anna were here. Why wasn't she? This was a pretty fucking panicky moment, he thought. She _always_ came when he needed her.

As they walked into a large room, his prediction proved true. Rebecca shot down a zombie before Billy had even noticed it. Christ, he needed to pay attention. A little slip could mean death.

"Look at this!" Rebecca said with fascination. "It's a platform. Do you think you could stay here and pump me up?" she asked, her face wide with interest.

Where the hell did she dig that enthusiasm up from? She had been crying a moment ago. Fucking women. Anna had been the same way.

Or maybe it wasn't enthusiasm as much as false bravado, he noted, looking at her eyes. She wanted to get out, and she knew the only way out was to figure out a safe route. The only way to figure that out was to explore. So he nodded.

She stepped onto the platform, and with ease, Billy used the rotation wheel to push her up. He could hear her pitter-patter footsteps on the floor above him. Christ, this place was creaky. He hoped she didn't fall through.

At least she had gone instead of him. He smirked at the image of falling through the ceiling to meet Rebecca's wide-eyed stare. He almost laughed at the image.

Something was wrong with him. This insanity was getting to him. He hadn't laughed in so long, and in this fucking haunted house, he was laughing like an idiot.

He heard her open a door. "Hey, Billy!" she stuck her head through a door that had been jammed a second ago. "No creatures here! Come on, there's an abandoned room that might have something to help us in it."

He followed her into an open, abandoned room. "It's eerily quiet in here—" Billy was about to point out that quiet didn't always mean safe when a giant fucking bug busted through the ventilation system and grabbed Rebecca.

Billy just reacted. His handgun wasn't enough: he searched around the room for anything, something stronger.

Why the fuck was there a shotgun here?

Billy didn't question. He sent a prayer of gratitude to Anna, wherever she was, and checked for ammo. The shotgun had three bullets.

This was his only fucking chance.

He aimed carefully at the wiggling thing. Christ, it had at least a thousand legs. Fucking centipedes. He ignored Rebecca's frantic screams and concentrated only on the thing.

Bang

Bang

Bang

The thing dropped Rebecca and squirmed, retreating back into its little hideaway. Billy ran to Rebecca. "Are you okay?" he demanded roughly. "Did it hurt you?"

"No," she admitted sheepishly. "I mostly screamed because I hate bugs. I don't know why it grabbed me. It wasn't trying to kill me, I don't think." She pondered for a minute, then noticed what Billy held. "Where on earth did you get a shotgun?" she demanded.

Billy was reminded of Anna, so strongly in that moment that it was unreal. But how? They were nothing alike. Anna had been tall and thick and curvaceous, with long blonde hair. Rebecca was tiny and muscular with her pixie cut and her gigantic eyes and her shooting. Anna hated guns. Rebecca handled them as well as he did.

"I'm learning not to question the shit in this place," Billy shrugged. "Zombies and giant bugs? I'm not gonna question a shotgun. It's the most normal thing we've seen all night."

"Maybe someone else was here," she said pensively. She nodded. "People have had to be here. You need people to make zombies right?"

Billy winced. "I prefer to not think of them as people when I'm blowing their brains out," he answered ironically.

Rebecca was reflective after that.

Her unusual quietness wasn't necessarily a good thing. "What time do you think it is?" she asked him instead, getting up and dusting herself off.

"Probably closer to midnight," he answered. His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten all day. Why feed the convict?

Rebecca nodded and began walking. "If there's a shotgun, there's probably ammo. We need to keep an eye out."

Smart girl, he thought and followed her. He noticed Rebecca walked with her hips, taking long strides that moved her body smoothly. It was strange to see her suddenly acting like the girl she was. Then he noticed she had sheathed her gun. He hadn't seen it before because her walk had always been the weary stride of a gunslinger.

Rebecca stopped at one door and opened it up, gasping in delight. "Look, Billy!" she said eagerly. "It's got no zombies, no creatures, and it's got a lock! I could use a break. There might be something important in here."

Like what? He wondered to himself. But he went along with her idea anyway. He listened to her ramble on about ammo and food and rest and the rest he sort of tuned out.

But he was interrupted. "Billy, when did you get that gash on your leg?" she asked disapprovingly.

He had noticed the pain earlier, but ignored it. He hadn't seen blood, so assumed it was just in his head. "When the van crashed, I guess." He answered, thinking of all the glass that had flown about.

"Well, let me see!" she replied impatiently.

"See what?"

"Your wound, Billy, what else?" she rolled her eyes at him.

"How?" he was bewildered by this girl.

"Take off your pants," she replied briskly.

He almost laughed at the look on her face that she tried so hard to hide. "Hate to tell you, dollface, but underwear isn't a luxury granted to people going to death row." He answered dryly.

Her face was beet red. "Well it's on the other side of your leg, so you don't need to feel embarrassed."

He fought his laughter and turned around, stripping from his pants and letting her look at the cut on his leg.

"Billy, you really ought to tell me from now on if anything happens. I think these creatures can smell blood." Rebecca told him critically. "Besides, I don't want you to run around hurt, if I can fix it."

Rebecca eyed the cut on Billy's leg. It wound down from the top of his thigh to the edge of his knee. She broke out the last of her first aid spray and felt gratified when he flinched from the pain.

As a medic, she ignored any part of his body besides the injured area. Vigorously and efficiently, she wound the last of her tape around his thigh and taped it. "Okay, you can put on your pants now."

Billy noticed the change that came over Rebecca when it was time to be the little nurse. The merest mention of taking off his clothing had her blushing magenta, but when it came down to it, she was calm and oblivious, focused on helping him.

Of course, now that he was fully clothed again he saw how red she was.

"Look, we've got crackers in here!" Rebecca pointed out eagerly, quick to hide her flaming face. The box of crackers was unopened, but Billy was still wary. "What if that's what turns them into zombies?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes. "Zombies eat _brains_, not crackers. Haven't you ever seen a horror movie? Anyway, you're the one who's hungry. I'm just providing for you, _partner_." She teased him.

He laughed and accepted the food. Rebecca continued to shuffle through the room. "I knew it!" she cried triumphantly, waving a half-empty box of shotgun ammo at Billy. "I was right! I _knew_ there would be ammo. This place is _insane_! Zombies, random guns, what next? Giant spiders or something?"

Billy froze. "Don't even fucking say it, Rebecca. You're gonna fucking jinx us. _Fuck_! You _know_ we're gonna run into a fucking six foot tarantula now," he accused.

Rebecca burst out laughing. "Billy, it's okay, I'll handle the spiders."

"The same way you handled the centipede?" he asked dryly, his mouth full of food.

She glared. "No! That was a sneak attack. We don't bring that up again. I can handle spiders. Just not the small ones."

"You're willing to shoot zombies but you can't kill a spider?" he asked in disbelief, swallowing.

"It's my worst terror that, while I'm sleeping, a spider will crawl inside me and lay its eggs and kill me from the inside out. Big spiders can't get inside little old me. So it's okay." She explained.

It didn't make much sense to Billy. "Alright. I'm just letting you know now. I'll handle any fucking thing else, but giant spiders, I'm not gonna fuck with."

"Are you afraid of spiders, Billy?" she teased.

He ignored her and saw a dusty old piano. He smiled fondly at it, remembering the day he finally managed to wrangle Anna. How he had banged on the keys until she came running for him.

It felt so long ago. Nine years…

Christ, he was getting old.

Rebecca watched Billy as he smiled at the dusty old thing. He sat at the stool and cracked his knuckles, grinning at her. "Ready to hear a masterpiece?" he grinned.

Rebecca cringed, anticipating a ridiculous banging that they really didn't need.

But Billy began to play, a haunting melody that mesmerized Rebecca. She listened carefully, and understood how fantastic he truly was. She couldn't hear a single sour note, and while playing, something changed in Billy's face.

An absorbed expression crossed his brow, and as the music flowed from his fingertips, a peace fell over him, a calm that she hadn't seen the entire time she'd known him.

Which wasn't as long as it felt.

She put a hand on his shoulder as he finished. "That was beautiful," she told him sincerely. "Where did you learn to play like that?"

Billy seemed to be struggling with something internally. But he finally answered, in a wistful voice: "Someone I love very much played it."

Rebecca was saved from answering when suddenly a wall panel opened.

It was exactly the thing that happened in cartoons and mystery movies, she sighed to herself. But if it was sealed so well, maybe there wouldn't be any creatures?

Yeah, right.

"I guess this means we're going down," Rebecca's voice sounded pitiful, even to herself. She gave a longing look around the room, at the tacky furniture, the strange items, the shotgun in Billy's capable hands.

This place was a mystery. She supposed she shouldn't really be surprised at finding ammo and guns: the creatures had once been people too, and they would've wanted to protect themselves against the horrors here.

She looked at Billy, and knew he was following the same train of thought as she. "If I become one of those creatures, Billy _please..._ just kill me." She looked at him suddenly.

His gaze was piercing. His dark blue eyes met her lighter ones and he was utterly serious as he responded: "I promise, Rebecca… that you will not become one of them. Not on my watch."


	13. Hole in the Wall

**Author's Note:**

**When Billy yells "_WAUGH_!" it makes me laugh SO hard. I don't know if he does it in Umbrella Chronicles, but if you play RE0, and Rebecca gets hurt, you'll hear her cry out or go "Ouch!" all perkily. She can get hit like 3 times and she's done. But Billy the Human Tank can get hit ten times, but if he's "Fine" and he gets hit once, he goes "WAUGH!" and it's SO funny because he's such a macho, manly guy, and he FREAKS OUT whenever he gets hit.**

**Feel free to correct any abnormalities you noticed like "When the hell did they get this/see this/say that?" Because since it's kinda AU, it's hard to get everything exact, so if they do something that seems totally random, let me know so I can fix it! Please:D**

**Thanks so much for all the reviews guys, you're the best!**

* * *

><p><strong>Hole in the wall<strong>

Rebecca watched as Billy lead the way down the dark corridor, his enormous shotgun cradled in his hands, ready to face anything. Rebecca watched the rear, making sure nothing snuck up behind them. It was silent, except for their footsteps, the light pitter-patter of Rebecca shoes, and the heavy _clomp-clomp_ of Billy's larger ones.

Soon, their steps were in sync. She was wary: you could never guess what might be down here. Her gun trembled in her hands. She thought back to her training with Barry and Joseph, the newest Alpha member. Barry had trained her for months on how to walk with her gun in a dangerous situation. She kept it elevated and stepped forward carefully but steadily. Ahead of her, Billy ignored any protocol he might've learned in the Marines and just walked, holding the gun out in front of him, ready to shoot anything.

The corridor ended when they reached an enormous room: it looked like the main room of a mansion, with winding staircases and dozens of doors. Ahead of them was an old, torn apart looking picture. Drawn to it, Rebecca walked up to it and stared at the picture.

"Billy," she said hesitantly. "Doesn't this look like—"

"That leech zombie?" he finished. "Yeah. Fucking creepy if you ask me." He looked away from the portrait and sucked in a breath. "The _Umbrella_ research center?" he demanded angrily.

Rebecca read the dusty name at the top of the portrait. "This says—Doctor… something." She reached up to try and dust it off, but couldn't reach the top.

Billy stood over her and read it to her. "James Marcus. The first general manager…"

Rebecca turned away and was shocked out of her wits when an intercom voice spoke out suddenly, imperiously:

"This is Dr. James Marcus!" the voice proclaimed, its tone unforgiving. "Please be silent as we reflect upon our company motto; _Obedience breeds discipline; discipline breeds unity; unity breeds power…_

"_Power, is __**life**_."

Rebecca fought a shiver of dread. Who had set off that announcement?

"They're really into _breeding_ superiority," Billy's disgusted voice broke through her chills.

She shook her head. "We've got to keep going. Maybe we can find information about all this."

Billy picked up a piece of paper shoved into the corner of the portrait. "These are… notes?"

Rebecca grabbed them and read it, reading aloud to Billy.

The paper explained everything. "The things here… they were researchers. This is a training facility for Umbrella, where they used something called the mother virus, to create the T-Virus. It can infect any living thing…" she was horrified. "This means they did this on purpose!"

She would need to tell her team about all of this. She couldn't even imagine what this kind of information could do. If all of these creatures had once been people, then that meant dozens after dozens of people had been killed.

By what?

By… Umbrella?

The same place that had taken care of her? The orphanage that had raised her, the company that had sponsored her?

The company that had been training her to work for them since the very beginning?

Who _had_ adopted Kyle and Lindsey, all those years ago? They had disappeared without a trace, without a goodbye, within months of each other…

Around the same time as Johnson's depression.

She remembered clearly how nihilistic he had become in the weeks before Lindsey's adoption. How he had moped around and talked to himself, and been under so much stress. She had attributed it to his working all the time… and maybe she was more correct than she thought.

If Johnson worked for Umbrella… what if he had done something to upset them? What if he had disobeyed them: would they punish him so viciously as to take his students?

Her friends?

No, she was overreacting. This was her being slowly driven insane by monsters. Kyle and Lindsey were adopted, she didn't notice because she was young, yes, it had nothing to do with Johnson, it wasn't anything she did, Umbrella—

But if Umbrella had a hand in this, who knew what they were capable of?

"Rebecca!" Billy shook her, a worried look on his face. "I said, are you feeling alright? Not going catatonic on me, are you?"

She shook herself, trying to clear her head. She noticed that the gun in her hands was shaking. She was trembling like a child in a thunderstorm.

"Of course I'm fine!" she rejoined, her voice too high, too cheery. "Don't be silly!"

Billy looked at her with an unreadable expression. He probably thought she was crazy. She probably was.

"If you're sure…" was all he said. He turned away from her and began to walk up a flight of stairs. Rebecca quickly followed him, her mind preoccupied.

As they wandered about, they eventually came to another promising-looking door. Billy shook the handle and swore. "Fucking locked."

Rebecca looked up at the door, and noticed it didn't extend to the ceiling. "Push me over, I can unlock the door from inside."

He nodded at her idea. "Alright. Ready?" he asked. At her nod, Billy took her hips and lifted her.

Awkwardly, she struggled to get her feet on his shoulders. Once she managed, she growled. "Billy, I'm still not tall enough!"

"Here, step on my hands." He offered her his palms and she stepped on them, trying to keep her balance while he effortlessly hoisted her.

"Almost there," she grunted, pulling herself up.

"Glad I could be of service," he answered sarcastically. "Don't break a leg jumping down."

"Didn't know you cared," she teased, looking over towards the other side. She couldn't see properly from this angle, and readying herself, jumped down from the ledge.

"Ouch!" she cried. She heard Billy's mocking laughter and rolled her eyes in irritation. What a jerk!

She opened the door and scowled at him. "Don't laugh at me! I'd like to see you jump down from up there."

"I'd like to see you lift me up," he replied, rolling his eyes.

Then he froze.

"Do you hear that?"

Rebecca couldn't hear anything, but as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she gasped, grabbing Billy's arm. "Look!" she exclaimed in horror.

Chains and weapons littered the walls, as well as strange torture devices she thought were only from the imagination of directors in movies. This couldn't be a torture chamber: but the proof in front of her eyes was undeniable. She was dismayed. It was horrible! She couldn't even imagine what they used this for.

She saw dried blood caked everywhere and felt nauseous. How many people had sat in this room? How many people had died here? Revulsion pooled in her mouth as she stifled a scream. She distantly saw Billy fall to the floor. An enemy?

She whipped her gun ahead of her but saw nothing. Looking down, Billy was on the floor.

"Are you all right, Billy?" she asked him. He didn't answer: his eyes flashed wildly and he rolled on the floor as if avoiding fire. "Billy!" she begged. "What's wrong?" had he gone insane?

He didn't seem to see or hear her. He almost tumbled into one of the terrible machines and Rebecca screamed at him, pulling at him, chasing after him, begging him to stop before he hurt himself.

But Billy was in another world. He felt the oppressive African heat, the bloodied faces of his comrades from years and years past. He clutched his head, driving to drive out the images and let out a roar. He was blind, he couldn't see. Why couldn't he fucking see?

The blood covered his eyes, and he felt something warm in his arms. Anna?

_Anna_! His mind screamed, already knowing the ending to this story. He panicked, thrashing about, clutching her face, trying to revive her, trying to seep some of the blood back into her.

"…_Billy_…' her voice called distantly. He struggled to find the voice. "Where are you?" he begged, needing an answer, needing her voice.

"_Billy_…" her voice was stronger, trying to call him back from wherever he was lost. He reached out blindly, unfeeling, ignoring pain, needing that voice.

But suddenly it changed: the pitch went softer, filled with panic. "Don't panic!" he yelled out. "I'm here, where are you!" he shouted desperately, writhing around and looking for it.

"_Billy_!"

The voice was right next to him. He reached for it, clutching it. "Keep talking," he begged pitifully. He couldn't bear to be alone, no, he needed the voice.

"Oh, Billy," the voice cooed with a heartbreakingly tearful tone. "I'm right here, Billy."

Billy tried to wipe the blood from his eyes. This wasn't Anna. Who was this? Who was there?

"Anna?" he asked, wondering where she had gone.

A small hand touched his cheek, and Billy felt himself being transported, jolting back to reality with a painful crash. "Billy, it's Rebecca."

The face in front of him wasn't Anna's. The small body cradled him and watched him carefully, worriedly. Her brow was light brown, furrowed with an emotion Billy would be hard pressed to decipher. Beneath them, large green eyes dominated a small face, with soft pink cheeks and lips half-opened, revealing white teeth. Her auburn hair was short: her skin was soft and paler than his. She took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He looked at the tiny hand that was swallowed up by his larger, darker one.

If he hadn't known better, he would've called this woman delicate.

"Rebecca?" he asked weakly, feeling a flood of embarrassment wash over him as he realized what she had just seen.

"I'm right here, Billy. Are you all right now?" she asked kindly, no judgment in her tone. For that, he silently thanked her. If she had given any emotion, pity or disgust, he wouldn't have been able to handle it.

"Yeah," he grunted, unable to express his gratitude to her. Where had Anna been during that episode? He silently searched for her within his head, and woke her. He felt her weakness, her fatigue.

"Billy, I only come when you need…" she trailed off tiredly. Knowing him well, she explained before he even asked: "You have her here… you don't need me…"

Because Anna couldn't relate to these creatures: he had Rebecca right now. She had just helped him through a fucking episode the way nobody but Anna had ever been able to. Not those fucking idiots in the white jackets, holding syringes.

"Billy, what was that?" she asked him quietly. "Who's Anna?"

He owed it to her to explain. If creatures had found them while he'd been rolling around, acting like an idiot, they both could've died.

He'd never need to see her again after this night. He could explain and let it all wash off, let the weight on his shoulders slip away, even just for tonight. Didn't he fucking deserve to remove his shackles, even just for a little? He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle all this weight while fighting monsters.

So he took a deep breath. "Anna is my girlfriend. Was, I guess. She died in a car accident, along with my grandparents a few years ago."

She eyed him, as if she understood there was much more to the story. He sighed at her intelligence and continued on. "I've heard her voice in my head ever since." He finished, unwilling to explain more. Even in his confessions, he was closed off.

Then Billy realized she had read his file. She had known who he was when she first saw him, and knew he had been institutionalized up until a fucking week ago.

What else did the rookie know about him? Did she know anything about Africa? He hoped not. He didn't want her to be afraid of him.

"PTSD." She said it so softly, Billy almost didn't catch what she said.

He shook his head. "Yeah, but not from the accident. That was over eight years ago." He shrugged. "She just helps me get through the episodes. From Africa and India and Mexico, from China and pretty much every fucking place you can think of."

Billy realized belatedly that he was still in the medic's arms. She kept a hand on his forehead, and he noted that her hands were rough and callused. He really didn't want to sit up, he realized. He just wanted to bask in the moment.

It had been so fucking long since someone had touched him caringly. But he forced himself to stand, dusting himself off when a fucking monkey came flying around the corner.

The white creature latched itself onto Billy and Rebecca, with her wits ever about her, shot it in the foot.

Squealing, the thing, glowing in the dim light, flew at her. She managed to shoot it in the chest an instant before it could grab her.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed, looking at Rebecca.

"We should probably split up. There are two ways to go here. We have the walkie talkies. Fifteen minutes down each way, and we regroup," Rebecca decided.

Billy nodded. "Okay." He watched Rebecca reload her gun and began to walk down the hall.

"Billy!" her voice called behind him. "Be careful!"

He was grinning as she went through the door. "Didn't know you cared," he said to himself, continuing down the hall.

Rebecca watched the heavy door close behind her and gulped. It was the right thing to do: for now. But without Billy striding ahead of her or bringing up the rear, she felt awful. She realized how much she had come to rely on him.

Her walkie-talkie buzzed, and assuming it was Billy, she answered immediately. "Yes?" she asked, wondering if he had found something.

"Rebecca, it's Enrico. Have you managed to locate Coen yet? Over." The voice broke through the fuzzy communication device with an odd ringing noise.

She felt an odd repetition of events. "Not yet sir, but I'm still looking. I haven't explored my entire area yet, over."

"All right, but I need you to be on your guard. Coen has killed as many as twenty-three people."

She blinked.

She couldn't reconcile the Billy she was coming to know with a murderer.

Had he killed two dozen people?

As if cued by her inner turmoil, the singing they had heard on the train earlier began again. She remembered the flash of a person: a man with long, dark hair. She shivered. Was he here?

If he hadn't shown himself already, was he an enemy? Was he even human? It was hard to tell what was what in this insane place.

She inched forward tentatively, cowed by the haunting melody that permeated the very air. She felt the soft pop of leeches as she stepped on them, and it only added to her distress.

How was she coping so well? Neither of them had been seriously injured, they had been making jokes and getting along like partners. How was it even possible in a place like this? Shouldn't they be snappy and terrified?

This bonding was new to Rebecca. With Claire or Jacob, and even Chris, she hadn't felt this kinship so quickly. Not with Johnson or Kyle or Lindsey. Not with any of the other S.T.A.R.S. either.

Only Billy.

But how could she come to rely on him so closely when he killed so many people?

Or maybe… maybe he hadn't.

In her tender heart, Rebecca didn't truly believe for a second that Billy had committed the crime. But he hadn't mentioned it thus far. Should she follow his example, or should she ask him about it?

And if he had, would he kill her for knowing?

She brushed away that thought before it even fully crossed her mind. Billy had made a comment earlier about the monsters: "_I prefer to not think of them as people when I'm blowing their brains out,_" he had said.

Billy didn't have the heart of a killer. He had saved her more than once, even been the first one to offer his hand to help her. His left hand, dangling with cuffs that he hadn't removed…

How had he escaped the van? If he hadn't killed those people, she didn't believe he killed the policemen either. Enrico was wrong: justice wasn't black and white, right and wrong.

She resolved to ask Billy about it sometime.

Her absorbing thoughts successfully distracted her from the musical call of the strange man. She wondered if Billy could hear it—or if she was just getting close to him.

Billy heard the unnatural song from his position as well. He had encountered several creatures, and hoped Rebecca hadn't seen any. Although it was a bit much to hope for.

He shot a zombie down and swiftly checked around him to make sure there was nothing coming up behind him.

A little late though.

"WAGH!" Billy shouted, shoving the thing off of him and shooting it. He rubbed the mark on his shoulder where the thing fucking bit him. Thankfully, it hadn't broken the skin.

He was getting fucking ripped apart by these things.

He continued on slowly, stomping on leeches on the ground, their juicy little insides getting on his shoes.

He made it to a platform overlooking a river. Right on the platform was an airlift. He picked up the walkie-talkie. "Rebecca, I found something you might like. An—"

"I know, I can see it, and you. Look down."

He saw Rebecca waving at him, when suddenly her expression turned grim. He couldn't hear her over the rushing water, but she pointed, her mouth moving.

He turned around quickly and saw _another_ fucking monkey running for him. He didn't have time to pull out his shotgun before it jumped on him.

The thing was heavy, and he tried to wrestle it off him: but then an idea came to him, and he tossed the thing over the railing, hoping it would go over and leave him alone.

But then he felt it fucking grab on to his hand, and as he let out a shout, he felt the iron rub against his back, and the instantaneous free-falling sensation, right before he hit the cold water, shooting up his nose and down into his lungs, weighing him down, choking him until he sank into oblivion…

"Billy!" Rebecca screamed at the top of her lungs, her throat burning from the effort. She reached out futilely, almost propelling herself over the edge. She watched him fall over and down, underground, following the terrible river downstream, to stranger tides.


	14. Waking

**Author's Note:**

**Once again, if you see any errors or discrepancies, lemme know! This chapter is about adding depth to their relationship so the goodbye is even more poignant than the game shows. I hope I'm doing my idea justice. **

**Thanks to my reviewerss, pinkalmonds and yingyanggirl, and to all the people who favorite me and subscribe me :D**

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><p>Rebecca retraced her steps, running past the moaning creatures, shooting them as she went past. She mostly ignored them, except for a few who got too close for comfort.<p>

She made it back to the torture chamber, blocking it out as she jogged down the hallway that Billy had done down. She made it to the air platform and got on, slamming on the buttons in her panic, to go down, go down now.

The slow, bulky machine traveled more slowly than she could run. She wanted to scream, tear her hair out: there was nothing she could do to make it go faster.

"Come on, Billy," she whispered to herself. "Hold on, for just a little longer… I'm coming!"

She bit her lip in her impatience and frustration, drawing blood. Did the creatures smell the scent of blood and come after them?

She didn't care right now.

Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy.

She chanted the name over and over in her head, as if the rhythm would help settle her patience, as if saying his name would help him stay alert. As if he could hear her.

The machine had barely finished its slow descent before Rebecca was off and running. Billy had been washed up on the grate, alive.

"Oh my god, Billy!" she choked a sob. He wasn't breathing. She panicked for a second, her heart thudding louder than the currents rush, but then remembered her training.

A situation like this required mouth to mouth or he'd drown. Suffocate. Whatever. She was beyond thinking.

She plugged his nose and sat her lips upon his, exhaling deeply until his chest rose. She pumped his chest for a moment, then repeated the process, covering his nose with her hand and resting her lips on his, blowing him air.

The third time she pumped his chest, he coughed, water spilling from his mouth as he turned and coughed out the liquid caught in his lungs.

"Oh, god, Billy!" she cried, throwing herself at him. He wrapped an arm around her, patting her awkwardly.

Rebecca felt Billy's cold, wet arms around her, strong like a vise, holding her too him. She didn't care that she was getting her shirt soaked: she cried into his shoulder. His hand rubbed her back, and she knew he probably felt horribly awkward about the whole thing, but she was beyond caring. "I thought you were dead!" she hiccupped. She pulled away from him, wiping her face. "My heart's still thudding," she gave a choked laugh and sat down next to him.

When Billy had first felt soft, dry lips on his, he had believed it was Anna. Hope had blossomed through him, and as the warm lips touched his again, his hope had continued to rise until he had opened his eyes and seen Rebecca's terrified face.

Although he was happy enough to see his partner. Her chest heaved with exertion and he could see her heart pounding the base of her throat. Her wet shirt clung to her chest, and he had to admit, she was pretty damn alluring.

But she wasn't Anna. She was his partner, and he wouldn't take advantage of the adrenaline-inducing situation. For all he knew, she had a boyfriend waiting at home. He was gonna make sure she got there.

"Thank you, Rebecca." He told her softly. She had done so much for him tonight: not shooting him at their first meeting, lying to her superior, saving his life, and just agreeing to be his partner.

"We should probably find you some dry clothes," she stood up, opening her mouth to add something when she froze.

Billy agreed and stood as well, until his gaze followed hers. His jaw dropped.

Across the way, dozens of skulls and skeletons lay abandoned, some crushed, some dirty, all in various states of decay.

"Umbrella must've been _torturing_ them," Rebecca's shaky voice broke through his stupor. "They created all this—on purpose!" her voice cracked and she ran to the waterline, vomiting.

Billy wasn't speechless for long. "They must've been test subjects in Marcus' research. He must've been fucking toying around with the mother virus!" he spat.

Rebecca looked horrified. "Billy…" was all she said, looking at him sadly.

It was a disquieting moment.

He shook his head. "You're right, I do need clothes. But where are we gonna get any here? Borrow some from the zombies?"

Rebecca bit her lip. "At least take your shirt off until it tries. We can't survive zombies and have you die of pneumonia."

He shrugged and complied, wringing out the wife beater and shoving it into his back pocket. He was loathe to throw it away. He might need it later. "We probably shouldn't separate again. We don't need a rerun of this."

She nodded, feeling guilty. It had been her brilliant idea to split up. "I'm sorry, Billy." She looked at him contritely. "For all of this."

He looked surprised. "None of this is your fault, Rebecca."

"You shouldn't even be here," she said bitterly.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily. Was she referring to his execution?

She rounded on him. "You're innocent, aren't you Billy?" she asked him seriously. No tears in her eyes, no silly proud gestures. Just… Rebecca. His face became shuttered. "Don't play dumb! You know what I'm talking about. You've never killed anyone, have you?"

"I've killed about a hundred zombies tonight," he pointed out icily. "Why grill me now? You've ignored it all night. Is your trust in me wavering?"

His tone was wounding, but Rebecca persisted. She grabbed his hand, and he turned towards her. She released her grip but continued earnestly. "You didn't kill those twenty-three people. Or the policemen at the van, either!"

"Does it matter? That was then, this is now." he replied brusquely. "It's over."

"It's not! It does matter, if you're under arrest for a crime you didn't commit! Billy," she implored, looking into his dark eyes. "How did you get involved in that mess?"

When he spoke, his voice wasn't laced with bitterness or anger. But his confusion permeated every word of his story. "Our mission was to uncover some guerilla hideouts in Africa. It promised to be a long mission, and only those who volunteered had to go. I… I volunteered. It was brutal, and dangerous. The drop off point was in enemy territory, nearly a hundred miles from the site. Some died from the heat… others were killed by the enemy," his voice seemed distant as he recounted Dick's story, and the flash of red in the trees, proof he was hallucinating.

"In the end, Chet and Joe and Robert shot them down while I watched, like a useless goddamn _idiot_." He hissed furiously. "I watched them slaughter innocents, and when I woke up, Chet told me about his brilliant fucking plan to blame me."

"Why would he do that?" Rebecca asked sadly. "Kill all those people… then blame you?"

Billy shrugged. "Madness. Anger. He saw it as a punching bag. I disobeyed orders and didn't shoot: I was the scapegoat. Then they institutionalized me, which bought me time… and ultimately, brought me here."

She fell silent, absorbing what he told her. Not one for self-pity, Billy continued.

"So what brought a kid to S.T.A.R.S.?" he drawled.

"Haven't I proved what an ace I am already?" she asked with a raised brow.

"Why S.T.A.R.S. instead of the regular police? Or college student? Or teacher?"

"If you want to know the whole pitiful story, I lived in an orphanage. When I was eight, they figured out I was a genius. By the time I was eleven, I was sent to school. I graduated at fifteen, did absolutely nothing for two years… and since I was a biochemistry major, I figured I could be a medic… as my career before my career."

She hesitated to explain the rest.

"Because Umbrella owned the orphanage I was raised in, sponsored me, and wants to hire me when I turn twenty-one. I would be an employee there now if I hadn't declined their offer."

"Good thing you decided to be lazy and turn down the job."

"Good thing you went crazy and are still alive," she retorted, the both of them referring to their current predicament.

He shuddered. "Imagine if I had been here, and you hadn't, or the other way around. Shit that's a scary thought. We're only both here out of sheer fucking luck."

"I think I'd be dead without you," she confessed bleakly. "You've saved my life more than once."

He nodded soberly. "I'm glad it was you who found me on the train," he told her sincerely.

She grinned at him cheekily. "Me too."

"We should probably get going. Will you be all right with a wet shirt?" he asked her.

"Your bandages! Billy, I forgot about your bandages! Do you think they're okay?" she asked worriedly.

Billy smirked at the memory. "I asked you first."

"Billy, I'll be fine. What do you want me to do, walk around in my _bra_?" she asked sarcastically, as if the suggestion were utterly ridiculous.

"You've pretty much seen me naked," he teased. "Isn't it my turn?"

"_No_!" she yelled at him, her cheeks staining pink. "I didn't _see_ anything! I was just tending your wound." The implication embarrassed her beyond belief. Even with Jacob, she still was shy.

"Are you sure? It hurts my ego a little that you're allowed to get fresh and all I've seen are your abs." he mocked, trying to see how dark her cheeks could get. He was a bastard and he knew it, but it was pretty goddamn funny to see how changeable her personality was.

"_Okay_, you walk around with a wet bandage if you're so _modest_," she answered, her cheeks getting hotter by the second.

"Bra for bandages," He was an asshole for doing this to her, but they could be fucking dead by morning. He might as well get in a couple jokes and a nice view. "Anyway, what was it that you said to me? Something about pneumonia?"

"My shirt isn't even that wet!" she protested, looking down. "Would you shut up if I had a big, beefy boyfriend?"

"No, because you don't."

"You're right. Jacob's really skinny." Rebecca mentally compared him to Billy.

While Jacob topped six feet and then some, his frame was gangly and wiry. He was serious and studious and, although it felt traitorous to admit, a boy. He was a boy in his first year of college, still young and earnest.

Billy was maybe six feet tall, and twice as thick as Jacob. Billy was a hulking giant, a human tank, and his masculinity was an ever present aura around him. Billy was definitely a man. A macho idiot, at that.

But the thoughts swirling around in Rebecca's head feel traitorous. She shook her head, regretting her flirting. _It's just a way to remind myself that I'm still alive and whole_, she told herself, suddenly feeling nauseous._ It means nothing. I barely know him. I've been with Jacob for years: but how can I tell him about this? How could I ever relate to him again, after this?_

She turned, away from Billy, averting her eyes from the horrors. "Let's go, Billy." She said quietly, padding softly onto the platform, her tread somehow heavier than before, yet softer, with a subdued tone.

Billy felt the amiability they'd had a few moments ago slip away and cursed himself. He'd gone too far. And in a place like this, perhaps the damage that had been done was irreparable.

They rode along in silence, and once they landed, shot open a few monstrous heads, watching as the creatures fell over, their heads cracking on the floor, blood leaking from their decrepit, rotting bodies.

"Billy, in here!" Rebecca pointed at a door. Billy admitted that they were fucking lost. He was soaking wet and starting to shiver. Christ, this couldn't get any worse.

She climbed through a tiny little cupboard and let out an excited yell. Why the hell had she done that? For all she knew, more creatures could be in there. There had to be something wrong with her, to find excitement in the midst of this hell. He shot a stray zombie that encroached and waited for her to explain.

When she came out of the closet, she grinned at him, her face a little dusty. "Look!" she showed him eagerly.

Clothes. Thank fucking god. "What the hell outfit is this?" he asked, taking it anyway. It was a suit, but unlike one he'd ever seen. The shirt was _gold_, for Christ's sake. It looked like it belonged to a fucking gangster, but it'd do until his real clothing dried.

He pulled on the shirt. His soaking wet bandage _could_ use changing, he noticed when he turned to pull on the clean pair of pants. The medic went red and turned away. He rolled his eyes, amused at her shyness. "You can turn around, princess," he told her dryly.

They started down the hall, Billy feeling ridiculous, but dry, and Rebecca's cheeks still red. The décor was eerie, and the lighting dim.

Billy wasn't fucking surprised when the giant scorpion from earlier broke through the ceiling.

Rebecca cried out in pain when a flying piece of debris hit her, knocking her away. Billy pulled out the shotgun and fired as many bullets as he could into the monstrous creature, its pincers waving and shaking in the air, its twitching body trying to creep closer. Billy paused for a moment as it let out a squeal: it was dying. He couldn't afford to waste anymore shotgun bullets. They were fucking precious. So he just paited

The thing eventually stopped moving completely and Billy remembered Rebecca. He turned towards her and pulled the piece of plaster off her small frame. She let out a groan. "Are you okay?" he demanded, his heart racing. She wasn't bleeding anywhere that he could see, but had she broken anything? Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

Rebecca felt a weight leave her stomach and the relief was as painful as the wound. She distantly heard Billy's question, but when she tried to answer, all she could do was moan. She felt herself being lifted and she wanted to scream with the pain in her chest and stomach, but held it in. Where was he taking her?

She heard a door open and felt Billy adjust his grip on her. She felt herself being lowered, and finally managed to open her eyes.

She was in a small room, with a bed and a typewriter in the corner. Billy looked panicked. She wanted to examine herself, but she knew it'd be impossible. At least they had gotten dry clothes for Billy before he'd caught his death, she consoled herself.

Now they just needed to get the hell out of this horrible place.

She felt Billy's large, warm hands on her stomach and chest. "_Where does it hurt_?" his faraway voice asked. She figured she should faint and get it over with, but the crippling pain kept her somewhat alert.

"Probably- bad bruising," she managed to get out. She wanted to throw up. The agony was dull, thudding in tune with her heartbeat, sore and painful. Her own voice sounded disconnected.

His fingers were splayed on her stomach and she noticed vaguely that her vest was unbuttoned. "Check—the room for… anything."

She felt his warm, comforting hands leave her and heard him rummage around. He gave a scoff. "Nothing but a fucking weed." He held the small, potted plant up for her examination.

She almost choked with happiness. She recognized it. "Give it to me," she demanded, and ripped it up, then chewed on the bitter leaves. It'd act as a painkiller, but the effects were slow. She was incredibly lucky that this particular herb was in this particular room.

"Will you be okay? That thing—is completely dead. Jesus, it scared the shit outta me," Billy confessed, trying to fill the silence. He was terrorized by the idea that she'd just fall asleep and not wake up. When she didn't answer, panic filled Billy's lungs and he sat on the floor and took a deep breath.

He leaned against the wall and curled into a ball, massaging his temples. She just needed a break. This room was safe, and there hadn't been any creatures around, so they had time to kill.

He winced at the phrase. Christ, he was getting fucking paranoid. If they got out of here, they'd both be batshit crazy.

He waited, holding in his stress. What would he do if that little girl got herself killed? The guilt'd eat at him.

All of his thoughts were morbid, so when Rebecca tentatively sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her legs not even reaching the floor, he leapt up, so happy and filled with goddamn relief that he could've kissed her.

Never one to deny himself, especially while repressing an episode, Billy grabbed her and lifted her, planting a kiss right on her lips before setting her down. "Thank fucking god!" he exclaimed, exhaling his relief. "You're alive!"

She grinned at him. "Billy, we've faced a lot worse than me getting a bruise," she reminded him, laughing a little, slightly embarrassed at his reaction. "And anyway, if you wanted to do the whole 'Sleeping Beauty' routine, you're supposed to wake me with a kiss, not kiss me for waking up."

He gave her an answering smile. "Forgot protocol, _sorry_." He answered sarcastically.

She began rummaging through the room. "Alright, time to go get eaten by zombies again."

"I don't know about you, but I've never been eaten by anything." Rebecca heard his sarcastic response and rolled her eyes. Of course he'd make a reference to sex while they were about to die.

"Omigod, Billy, look!" she said in delight. She was on a roll. They had the shotgun, the clothes for Billy, and now this? "A _magnum_! How did you not see this?"

Billy snatched it from her hands and examined it thoroughly, running his hands down it and checking for ammo. "Christ, this could save our lives in case we have to fight another gigantic thing like that lobster-scorpion thing. Or the bug." He ignored her last comment.

Four guns. Two pistols, a shotgun, and now this. For the first time, Rebecca felt a glimmer of hope.

But they still had what felt like miles to go before they escaped.


	15. Almost

**Author's Note:**

**Alright, I've finally reached the end of my rope. I don't have any more chapters prewritten, so I don't know how long it'll take me to get them posted from now on lol, esp with school starting and everything. I'll try to update at least semi-regularly. **

**We're coming to the close of Resident Evil 0/ Resident Evil UC- Trail Derailment, which means it's a free for all for me with Billy! Rebecca still has to go through the mansion, but I can plot Billy's life :D**

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><p><strong>Almost<strong>

It seemed like the moment they stepped from the room, they were swarmed by creatures. They looked like fucking _apes_. They managed to shoot them down, with the shotgun and the pistol. Billy didn't want to use the magnum yet. They might need it.

Billy opened a door at random and saw it led to an outer level. "Outside!" his relief was evident in his voice. "Thank fucking god."

He slammed the door shut, hoping that there'd be nothing out here to attack them.

Rebecca sounded disappointed. "I think this is more of a courtyard. This place is gigantic."

That meant no escape. Shit. Billy slumped his shoulders. "Guess we better keep going." Wandering around this fucking maze. They were just getting deeper into the thick of it. This wasn't even a fucking maze. It was a goddamn labyrinth.

Billy strode forward. "Is that a church?" he asked quietly, pointing.

Rebecca squinted. "Yeah, it is. What is a church doing _here_? In this place?"

Billy almost ran to it. He stood at the enormous double-doors, sizing it up. He opened the door, checking immediately for creatures. When there were none, he slowly sat in a pew, wondering how long this place had been abandoned.

Rebecca watched forlornly as Billy prayed. She had never had time for religion, and he was devoting himself in the middle of hell. _He must get a sense of peace in here_, she realized. It was lit at the altar, the only light in here.

There was dust and grime covering the floor and walls, but a beautiful stained glass window rested at the front of the church. Rebecca was entranced by the pattern.

Until she heard a screech.

Billy jumped up immediately, and they looked around frantically, searching for the cause of the noise. Rebecca pointed. "There!"

As if called to her, the creature began to squeal again. "Holy shit!" Billy breathed. They lifted their weapons and shot at it, Billy pulling out the magnum.

It was down in three shots.

"Jesus Christ!" Billy swore. "We can't catch a break. A giant fucking bat."

Rebecca went over to the creature. "This bat is probably ten feet long," she said in wonder.

Billy slumped onto a pew again. "Shit. I'm exhausted." He admitted, his voice gruff and annoyed.

Rebecca agreed wholeheartedly. "I just need some air, quickly." She lied and rushed out the church door.

"Enrico?" she asked hesitantly as a figure suddenly appeared. The man jumped, and pulled out his gun.

"Rebecca?" he asked cautiously. "Is that you?"

"Oh, Enrico! Where are the others?" she hardly dared believe it was him. She and Billy—

Billy.

"I've lost them all." Enrico admitted. "I'm assuming most of them have headed to the abandoned mansion to rendezvous. We should go now too."

"But—Enrico, I found Billy Coen."

"You _apprehended_ the criminal?" He didn't bother to hide his disbelief. Rebecca was a small rookie medic.

"Yes, but we got separated! Please sir, I can't let him die out here!" she implored him desperately.

Enrico's rough face looked upset for a moment, then angry, as if he was going to command her to follow him, as team leader. "Alright, Rebecca." He relented. "Just make sure you find your way to the mansion soon. There are all sorts of horrendous things here. The sooner you make it out, the better."

His reluctant acceptance made Rebecca want to cry. He _trusted_ her. He was showing her he had faith in her judgment and her ability to carry out her promise.

Enrico walked away slowly, giving her time to reconsider. She quickly re-entered the church, surprised at his acceptance and utterly relieved that he hadn't found Billy.

Billy stood up. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he quipped ironically. "Was anything out there?"

"No, just—the bat scared me." She lied lamely. Billy didn't need to know how close they had come.

She should've gone with Enrico, but then Billy would be in danger of capture. She couldn't betray him, not after everything he'd done for her. She trusted Enrico to survive and meet her at the mansion. She felt sick to her stomach at her constant duplicity. She was a liar.

She blinked back tears, and was grateful when Billy ignored them. "So, you ready to go?" he asked her brusquely.

She nodded and led the way out the door.

They followed the path back indoors. Exhausted and emotional, Rebecca was silent. Billy didn't break the quiet, as their footsteps beat in tune with each other, rhythmically pounding with Rebecca's pit-pat and Billy's clomping tread.

Rebecca was used to all-nighters, but usually she had coffee and wasn't exerting herself. Although adrenaline kept her from collapsing, she hadn't known it was possible to be this tired. _It must be ten times worse for Billy,_ she mused.

They entered a hallway that seemed deserted- but the instant the door closed behind them, an enormous creature rose up.

"What the hell?" Billy breathed.

Rebecca almost began to hyperventilate. The thing came from nowhere: its gray skin seeming even more sickly underneath the dingy lights, what looked like open wounds marring the enormous body.

The thing was at least eight feet tall, with a spike for an arm. It let out a furious roar, and instinctively, Billy moved slightly to his left, trying to somewhat shield Rebecca from the monster.

Without waiting for it to attack, Billy broke out his magnum and threw a shot at it.

At the same time, Rebecca's shotgun went off, jerking her back. The monster went down almost immediately. Without waiting to see if it was dead, Billy ran through the door, grabbing Rebecca and dragging her along with him. He didn't know what the hell it was, or if it were dead, but he was goddamn sick of giant creatures.

A gunshot from Rebecca interrupted his thoughts, as another white ape fell in front of them, dead. He looked up at Rebecca's delicate form, holding the shotgun like a professional. He'd noticed earlier that the gun bucked when she shot it, the power of the weapon knocking her back a little.

Her small face was hard, her jaw tensed and her short hair matted. He felt guilty: she didn't belong in a nightmare like this. She should be in bed right now, or at a stupid fucking party, living it up. Christ, how fast had her life transformed?

This wasn't exactly something people could fucking get over easily.

He was almost overcome for a second: how hard her grip was on the gun, her knuckles white, and her slender fingers gripping the lethal weapon: how terrified and alert her green eyes were, scanning the area for threats.

He felt goddamn guilty.

She wasn't his responsibility: she was a full-grown woman for chrissake. But for some reason, she seemed so young: so naïve and innocent in some ways…

Until he watched her kill with precision and strength.

He wondered if Anna'd be able to do this. If she'd be able to overcome her inhibitions and react solely to save her life, and everything else be damned.

She wouldn't.

Anna would be too stunned to react in the first seconds of the nightmare. The first and final seconds.

And even if she survived longer, she wouldn't be able to bear killing anything, not even a monster like the fucking ones they faced.

Rebecca interrupted his trance as she stepped forward. "Come on, Billy." Her tone was brittle and hard, close to the breaking point.

Billy gazed at the door. The enormous monster looming towards them had been horrifying, and in an instant, Rebecca's terror had reached its peak. She wasn't a frightened young girl any longer- she wouldn't cry again. She was a woman who fully had lived through the trials of life… unlike Anna, who had been Rebecca's age at her death.

Rebecca shot him a tight smile, and he noticed the way her closed lips curved upwards, her false smile not reaching her eyes. God, it took hours of this shit to break her, to force her chipper, sparky, feistiness into a façade rather than her true personality.

She was all grown up.

He looked at Rebecca, recognizing fully, perhaps for the first time, that she was a woman. The way she held her gun, the glint in her soft hazel-green eyes, the curves and muscles of her small body—she was a woman, not a little girl, not a doll.

As he stepped on yet another leech, his attention was drawn to the path before them. Rebecca led the way this time, but the door in front of them gave her pause.

"There's… _slime_ on the door." her disgust evident in her voice. "_Ugh_!"

She wiped her hand on her pants, and poked at the knob anxiously with her gun.

Billy rolled his eyes and turned the slippery knob, wiping his hands on his new outfit. Christ, he couldn't wait till his real clothes dried.

Thank fucking god he'd changed, because the second they'd stepped into the goddamn room, leeches started crawling up their skin, the slimy creatures leaving residue all over their skin and clothes.

Rebecca's scream broke him from his disgust and he looked at her, batting pathetically at the creatures as they wiggled their way on her.

A laugh echoed above them, and the leeches crawled away, towards the noise, leaving only their trails of water and mucus.

The swarms were everywhere, illuminated by candlelight, nesting in their own messes all across the room, which had once likely been beautiful and clean. Rebecca's disgust and fear was evident, and he felt the urge to punch a fucking wall.

"So glad you could join the party…" a whisper-soft voice echoed about the walls.

The source of the words was a young man in a white robe, and Billy was eerily reminded of the strange singing. "You are the guests of honor…" it drawled, the young man turning to face them, his face strong and striking.

"…After all… it is your wake." Maniacal laughter followed and he turned. Billy recognized the face immediately.

"_Marcus_?" he demanded, eyes wide. Next to him, Rebecca choked on a surprised gasp. This couldn't be real. This wasn't fucking real.

He never knew that people could actually 'gasp' in surprise, but this was a damn good reason to do it.

He glanced at Rebecca and saw her fingers touching her open mouth, her horror evident in her eyes. "It can't be…" she breathed, gazing up at the young and very much alive man in front of them.

Suddenly, his grin transformed, until he was the zombie from the train. An old man: but still alive. How was this even possible? Rebecca's mind raced desperately.

"What's going on?" she wondered desperately, as he smirked down at them. Had all of their journey been for absolutely nothing?

Was he going to kill them?

He smirked. "Ten years ago, Spencer had me assassinated." He closed his eyes as if remembering, and Rebecca took an unconscious step towards Billy, watching the emotions crossing Marcus' face.

"But then—something wondrous happened. It took the T-virus inside my queen years to procreate… my new life.

"I live… and now… I shall have my revenge on Umbrella… and the world will burn with an inferno of _hate_!" he spat maliciously, laughing cruelly at the insanity inside his head.

"You'll pay!" Billy spat, the rage on his features visible, frightening even Rebecca.

"We'll see who lives!" His laughter was hysterical, manic, until suddenly, he gagged. He leaned forward and tried to cough—but instead, three leeches crawled up from his throat.

Shock and disgust took over, then terror, as five more, then ten more came tumbling out of his mouth, gagging him, suffocating him.

But all emotion faded as slowly, his skin was covered in a shining sheen of sweat—and mucus, until it wasn't human any longer, but the squishy slimy flesh of a leech, of a monster.

His entire body transformed, becoming a creature that Rebecca knew would haunt her nightmares.

Marcus leapt from above and landed in front of them. With a rough shove, Billy pushed Rebecca out of the way, moving his body in the opposite direction.

He pulled out his pistol and shot: his pistol would do damage at close quarters and he had plenty of ammo- the magnum, only a single bullet remained and he'd only use it in absolute desperation.

Rebecca used the shotgun, dealing slower, but more potent damage at Marcus. As the thing—Marcus—leapt at her, she shrieked and jumped out of the way. Billy let out a shout as an arm sliced him across the arm, resulting in a stinging welt. If he had been any closer, the thing would've sliced his neck.

He heard Rebecca yelp in pain as another one hit her. He saw her double over in pain, and blood staining her shoe. Shit. He reloaded as fast as he could and shot another whole magazine into the thing, and it turned, letting out a howl that sounded unearthly, inhuman.

Billy grabbed Rebecca, and she ran with him, ignoring the pain in her ankle. The terror that filled him was paused: he was concerned with living. Emotion was shoved to the back of his mind for later.

"Left…" a soft voice told him, and trusting Anna, he pulled Rebecca to the left.

"An elevator!" his relief was palpable. He began fiddling with the control panel of it, and slowly, goddamn _slowly_, began a steady journey upwards.

The platform elevator was simply a sheet of metal with a control panel, designed to send up at least fifteen people at a time. Rebecca was in a trance, storing little details that didn't matter, terrified out of her mind.

Suddenly, as they neared the halfway point, the vehicle shook. Rebecca could've cried.

Billy spared a glance down. "It's the queen!" he shouted in horror.

The monster below struggled to follow them, its bloodlust overpowering it. It wiggled and squirmed, growing what seemed like millions of tentacles every second.

Red lights began flashing as the queen continued her struggle. "Self destruct system has been activated." The voice beeped tonelessly, repetitively.

Somehow this scared Rebecca more than anything else had. "_Who_ activated the self destruct system?" she demanded fearfully, hysteria seeping into her voice.

Billy bashed on the control panel. "Can't this thing go any faster?"

The queen was gaining on them. She skittered up quickly, no longer a leech, but some kind of monstrous deformed tentacle creature, enormous and powerful—and pissed off.

The queen rammed straight into the elevator with a force Billy had never known before. "Shit!" he spat, an instant before he and Rebecca went flying. They both let out shouts as they were tossed into the air like goddamn rag dolls.

They landed a good thirty feet away from the platform, the queen meeting them.

Yet she stopped, writhing in pain. An idea overcame Rebecca as she got up groggily.

"Billy! _Sunlight_! She can't stand _sunlight_!" her realization tumbled over her like a godsend. "We have to open the windows!"

Billy looked around. They seemed to be in a warehouse. He nodded. "Work on the windows!" he yelled, furiously running towards her: but not before he grabbed Rebecca's shotgun.

He danced around the queen, barely avoiding her, getting his cheek sliced open by the force of one of her tentacles.

He rolled away the instant before another one came to slay him.

Rebecca was making slow progress, finding levers to open up the windows. She was almost there… her hands blistered as she tugged on the rusty wheels.

Finally the last one opened. If Billy could only…

"Billy!" she screamed. "The magnum!" She dove into a corner to retrieve the gun that had flown from his grasp during their attack.

He looked up helplessly, out of shotgun bullets. The creature was injured: maybe fatally. But they didn't have a chance until she was one hundred percent dead.

She threw it at him, and he ran to catch it, desperate. She was distracted by the agony the light caused her, and he used to his advantage.

He caught the gun easily and flipped it in his fingers, aiming carefully at the creature.

"Hey, Queenie!" he shouted at it. It turned to face him, squealing in agony. Remembering him, she slowly eased towards him. But he had other ideas. "Feast on this!" he spat, and fired.

Billy could've sworn it happened in slow motion: the morning light reflecting off the gun's shining surface as it spiraled towards the queen, her insides blowing from the heat, the agony, and the magnum.

"Self-destruct system has been activated." The voice droned, and Billy realized that there was next to no time left.

The dying squeal of the monster was blocked out by the beeps of the system.

"Billy!" Rebecca ran towards him, in a terror.

Ignoring the fear in her eyes, he grabbed her. "Rebecca! Hurry!" he implored, dragging her along with him as he ran. He felt heat on his back and swore to himself, pulling Rebecca along as fast as he could.

The suit slightly inhibited his movements, but he tore through the seams in his frantic footsteps, panting, his throat on fire.

But better his throat then his whole goddamn body.

Billy ran past trees, as far as he could go, until they reached a cliff. He heard the explosion behind him and sighed in relief, sinking down on the grass.

Rebecca laid down next to him, and he could hear her heavy breathing. She must've been as exhausted as him.

But they were out now.

God, it felt fucking surreal. Like it couldn't have happened.

But it had. It was morning now, the sunrise beautiful and perfect. The air smelled like smoke and trees and Rebecca's sweat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a stream. "Rebecca," he croaked, gesturing her eyes towards it.

She looked at it with such a forlorn look, Billy would've laughed if he wasn't so goddamn tired. He knew exactly how she felt. The lure of water… and the lure of passing out right then and there. He pulled her up and staged towards it. He pulled his still-damp jeans and shirt from the inside pockets of his enormous jacket, and tossed them on a rock. He unbuttoned his shirt and tugged it off, then collapsed in the stream, letting the semi-cool water flow over him.

He heard Rebecca hesitate before pulling off her shirt and pants and doing the same. He heard her sigh of relief as the water ran over all her aches and bumps. They both drank from the stream gratefully and sat in silence for a few moments until Rebecca spoke, her tone laced with disapproval. "You know, Billy, you should really let me change your bandage before it gets infected." She sighed at him. In his mind's eye, he could see her shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

"You have too now, anyway." He heard the smirk in her voice. "I took off my shirt."


	16. Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

**Woo! Sorry the update was so slow. I had prewritten most of the story, but no longer! I'm caught up on all my chapters. So from now on, I have to write them out fully, so it'll take longer for chapters to get posted, especially with school.**

**Lemme tell you how HARD IT IS to write as Rebecca. That makes me sound like a manly girl or something, but it's so much easier to write as Billy. I don't know why, but I literally have to force myself to be Rebecca. Ugh, lol.**

* * *

><p><strong>Sunrise<strong>

Billy groaned in pain as Rebecca rewrapped his wound with bandages she had found earlier. It fucking _hurt_.

Although he had been half-joking about her being shirtless, he sure as hell didn't mind it. Although it gave him a full view of her bruise.

She was small, and the flying debris had been almost as big as her. She hadn't broken any ribs, but the vivid bruising went from the bottom of her stomach to above her chest, black and blue. "Does it hurt?" he asked her abruptly as her fingers gently wrapped his own injury.

She looked up at him for a second. "No… that herb I took is extremely powerful. It'll probably wear off in a few hours thought, and I'll be in agony." She confessed, giving him a wry smile.

He pulled on his still-damp jeans and let her sit there, in plain black cotton boyshorts and her black sports bra. She had been steadily red at first, but now she didn't seem to mind. He watched as the sun rose up over the cliff side, and he didn't know what the hell to do now.

"I can't believe we made it out," his voice was whisper soft. He sat back down on the grass next to the stream and listened. They were free.

But he was still goddamn trapped. What could he do now, besides keep on running? Where could he go too?

He looked at Rebecca's tiny frame, covered in nicks and bruises, and knew he looked just as bad as she did. He felt horrible that she'd even had to put up with him in the first place. She'd done so goddamn much for him. He only wished he could find a way to repay her.

She put her clothes back on, with her bra and underwear still wet. He pulled on his shirt in return.

For once, Billy Coen was at a loss for words. He had no idea how to give this moment closure, how to comfort her, how to anything to make this situation okay.

She'd go to her team, lie and say he was dead. He'd run to god knows where. Maybe he'd beg: in the fucking streets like a goddamn bum. Maybe he'd… he didn't know what the hell he'd do.

Rebecca walked over to the cliff side, and he followed her, not knowing what else to do. He was relieved when she spoke. "There's the mansion we're supposed to rendezvous at." She told him, her voice distant and small.

Billy instantly remembered the kiss he'd jokingly planted on her face, overcome with relief. The way she had been too shocked to move, how she'd ignored it, attributing it to his worry and panic. But he remembered the taste of her small lips, dry and chapped, but warm and full.

He realized he wanted to do it again.

He was a fucking bastard to even think of it. Not with her boyfriend, not with Anna, not with their fucking age differences. She was eighteen years old. She was just a kid.

No, that was wrong. Maybe before tonight, she had been a kid. But now she was a full fledged woman in her own right, strong and valiant as a warrior. She'd survived horror-movie terrors, and with minimal injury. It was a miracle they were still alive.

If they hadn't teamed up, both of them would be dead.

Or worse. They'd be one of the walking dead, with their wounds displayed brightly, their skin wasted and dull, pasty and white, with only splotches of red and rot marring them. They'd be unthinking, unfeeling monsters.

Would Anna still be with him if he became a monster?

He didn't even want to think about it.

He looked at Rebecca, relieved that her skin was warm and pink, that her breath was fresh of the stench of the rotting undead, that her smile wasn't a twisted broken jaw, coated in blood and the flesh of a comrade.

But Billy had never been one to deny himself.

Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed her hand. He squeezed it, hoping he could convey everything he felt about her, and this night, into a single, insignificant gesture.

But she seemed to understand.

Her eyes, free of tears but filled with emotion, locked with his, and he understood everything.

But really, he understood nothing at all.

Subconsciously maybe, he grasped what she was silently telling him. The gaze held much more than eye contact: it spoke of the past, the future: and the present.

She was the best friend he'd ever had, and he didn't know her at all.

"Rebecca?" he asked suddenly, not relinquishing her hand. "What's your favorite color?"

Surprised, Rebecca answered him immediately. "Green. Bright like grass and leaves. Before tonight it had been red."

He understood.

"What's yours?"

He thought about it for a moment, then looked out at the sunrise. "Probably… pink," he admitted. It was a completely un-masculine thing to say, but he didn't care. Watching the sun rise slowly, the shades of orange and pink and peach and yellow puffing about was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Before tonight… I never really had one."

Everything had gone gray after Anna died. But this night had taught him to value life, and vibrancy. Christ, he was ready to live.

Rebecca felt his strong hand wrapped around hers and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in his strong arms, and breathe the scent of musk and male and _life_. She felt she had been given a reprieve from death, all because of him.

She dug into her pocket with her free hand. "I should've done this hours ago, Billy." She told him, and unlocked his handcuff with her key.

Billy rubbed his wrist for a moment, as if in awe that it was gone. Then, eagerly, he let go of her hand and threw the thing away, down the cliff, reveling in the freedom. It might've been symbolic, or it might've just been terribly annoying to carry around. She felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier. But every moment had been so charged with energy, with emotion, that it hadn't occurred to either of them.

She remembered the way he had kissed her, the strong lines of his face relaxing once he realized she was awake and alright. He had bounded up so quickly she had barely any time to register it: until his lips found her bottom lip and kissed her, with joy and relief and utter happiness.

Jacob had never kissed her like that: not in the many hours she spent with him, the months, the years. She'd spent a single night with Billy Coen, and a kiss from the passion of the moment, the happiness rather than lust of his lips had enchanted her.

She never forget him.

"What now?" she asked, whisper soft. "Really… what now? I don't understand how we're supposed to move past this Billy. We won't be okay."

He was turned away from her when he answered. "I haven't been okay for a while, dollface, and I'm still around. It's not about being okay anymore, it's about survival. You have to go to your team and tell them about this: make them believe you.

"I would come with you, if I thought for a second I'd be able to live. I hate leaving you out here, Rebecca, but you have to go."

She swallowed a lump in her throat. "What about you, Billy? You're dead to the world now: what will you do?"

"Go to Mexico, maybe. Or Canada. There's nothing left for me here."

She knew it was true. But it hurt. He held her life in his hands, and vice versa. She'd never forget that. Or him.

She wanted to kiss him.

She was evil and selfish and terrible to even think about it.

She wondered if all kisses were the same, or if kissing someone like Billy would be different from Jacob. When Jacob kissed her, it was slow and loving and gentle. He always asked permission.

Billy looked at her, and in the morning light, she saw his face: strong and masculine, the slightest shadow across his face where a beard would grow in: his firm jaw and eyes lined like a man twice his age.

He was enormous.

Rebecca suddenly felt very small next to him. As the dawn's light fell upon him, she realized how truly broad his shoulders were, how thick his muscles were, and the strong dependability of his powerful body.

Her traitorous heart began to thud and that's when she knew she had to leave. She had to leave right now.

Billy gazed at Rebecca the woman and saw every thought cross her mind as if she was speaking out loud.

He noticed her throat became dry with desire she suppressed with the iron control of a soldier, the guilt running across her brow, the unsteady thump of her heart. She bit her lip, as if indecisive, then stood tall.

Christ, he'd have given anything to fuck her, right there and then. He had been celibate for too long, not even dreaming of desire while Anna was in his head. But somehow this woman, eight years his junior, had managed to arouse him with just her reaction to him.

He felt just as damned guilty as she did. Neither one of them were free: he couldn't do this too her. He couldn't love her and leave her, because he realized that he'd actually love her if he could.

He had to get out of there, fast.

He was searching for words of farewell when Rebecca did it for him.

She raised her hand and saluted him with the respect due to a Lieutenant. The gesture caught his heart and for a second, Billy felt complete gratitude in his heart for this brave young woman who did so much, who tried so hard.

He saluted her back, hoping his thoughts were as easy for her to read as hers had been for him. But he knew they weren't. Billy had become closed off. Years of practice had cultivated skills at keeping his face stoic and expressionless. If he couldn't show her, his words would be damned inadequate.

She swallowed again, and it was as if he could hear the thudding of her young heart, her brave, true heart as she turned and walked away. She left him the shotgun and his pistol, taking only his tags to remind her of him.

He only hoped to God they'd be enough.

Rebecca made her way to the mansion without incident. When she was able to open the doors and no dogs, no people, and no creatures had attacked her, she relaxed for perhaps the first time since she had been told of the mission.

Wandering around the eerily silent mansion, she wondered where the others were. She found a room with a bed, miraculously enough, and lay down. Where were Richard and Enrico? Kenny and Forrest?

She suddenly was terrified. What if they had all met the same fate as Edward?

She shook the thought away. She had survived against the odds, and was relatively unharmed. She and Billy had managed to live, had managed to escape that place. The curse was gone now, and all she had to do was wait.

She drifted off, her hand tightly clutching her gun, and the door open, so she could hear anything coming.

It felt like seconds later when a kind voice, a familiar voice, spoke her name with surprise, delight, and complete relief. "Rebecca?" Richard Aiken breathed.

She stood, rubbing her eyes. She was exhausted. She was used to coffee for her all-nighters, not strenuous exercise. "R-Richard…" she answered. "Where are the others?"

His easy smile faded the second she finished. "I… I don't know." His cheerful young face seemed to fall utterly. "I… I don't know. I'd guess they're either hiding or dead." His voice was flat.

She felt sick to her stomach, ready to throw up. "It's here too?" she asked quietly, terror and dread filling her up to the brim. She felt waves of nausea hit her, bam, bam, bam.

He nodded. "We were attacked... Forrest went completely missing."

She felt tears gather in her eyes. She took a deep breath and stood. She realized that it wasn't Billy who was huge: it was she who was small, too small and young for this job, too inexperienced and afraid. Richard's height dwarfed her, and it wasn't a reassuring feeling.

His frizzled Mohawk seemed too bright and cheerful for this gloomy décor. Everything here was dark, was a shade of gray or green or brown or blue. Dull, faded colors abounded.

She checked the room quickly, hoping for ammo and was overjoyed when she found a magazine of bullets. She reloaded her gun and looked at Richard, shoving away her every fear and giving him a calm smile. "I'm ready," she lied.

Billy didn't know what the hell to do now. He'd wanted to give Rebecca a sense of closure: to give off the confidence that he lacked. But in all honesty, he didn't know where the hell he was gonna go from here.

He picked up the shotgun and sighed. He waited about an hour, until she was safely far away from him: until he could no longer see her slender little body moving bravely towards her team, her small brown-red head bobbing with her footsteps.

He turned the opposite direction from her and started walking, hoping no creatures had managed to survive the explosion. Like the fucking dogs.

But instead of a dog, his peripheral vision caught something moving swiftly through the trees: a flash of red, exactly as the vision he'd seen in Africa. Christ, he was nuts. His sanity had run away with Anna, and the remains of it had escaped from him with Rebecca.

But instead of disappearing, the red flash jumped down in front of him.

Holy fucking shit, he wasn't crazy.

A woman stood before him, with hair shorn similarly to Rebecca's: her dark and narrow eyes showed her ethnicity. She was small, with powerful-looking muscles revealed in a slim-cut red dress, giving him a good view of her legs.

He was so goddamn dumbfounded that he didn't say anything. The woman smirked: she seemed to be his age, but with lines around her eyes that belied her youth. Her sultry movement immediately triggered a reaction in him. Shit, he needed to get fucking laid sometime. Sometime soon. His celibacy was suddenly starting to get to him.

"Hey there, Billy." Her smooth voice purred, her lips caressing his name as if it were an aphrodisiac.

He found words. "How the hell do you know me?" he demanded coolly. "And why have you been watching me?"

He knew it was true. She had been watching him, maybe for years.

"Not 'Who are you?'" her teeth glinted dangerously at him. "I'm an ally- maybe. It all depends. I think that answers both of your questions."

He was pissed enough to fucking grab her, but something about her told him it was a dangerous decision. "It doesn't really _answer_ anything." He bit out, containing his temper with a remarkable show of self-control.

But she did something surprising.

She walked up to him, set her slim hands on his chest and kissed him.

His face was dirty and his clothes were still damp, but she pressed herself against him seductively, running her hands down his body and biting his lip.

He was seconds from giving into his lust, with this strange woman in the middle of the fucking forest, but she pulled away.

Her eyes were dreamy with desire, but then an iron control clamped over them like shutters: and when she spoke, her voice was the same. "Ada Wong." She told him, whispering in his ear in a controlled, but lust-filled whisper. "And you, Coen, will find out everything else later."

And wouldn't you know, the bitch in the red dress fucking shot him with the same shit that they used on him in the crazy house.

Rebecca smiled reassuringly at Richard as they entered a room: at some points, he seemed more nervous than she. But she realized he was just as incapable to handle a situation like this as she was: and she had already had an adventure with Billy: he'd just been hiding. For once, she was the one who had confidence, who knew what she was doing.

Richard was in his early twenties, with a stupid haircut and the unlined face given to him by a happy life and youth. He was responsible, dedicated to his job, and one of the nicest people Rebecca had ever met.

She had pitied herself for being too young, too small, and too inexperienced for the job. But Richard equally unprepared for this.

She let off a shot at a creature and realized how instinctive the action had become. God forbid someone human sneak up on her. She'd probably end up shooting them. Richard gave her a strange look. "Something's different about you, Rebecca. But it's a good thing…" he concentrated for a second. "You're stronger."

Rebecca let out a laugh that was actually a sob. "You're right," she replied, scanning the room for more creatures. "But I couldn't be the same timid rookie after a night like last night." She felt the warm metal on her chest. She hoped Billy was all right.

It was an arduous journey, exploring this house, looking for survivors. The mansion had cramped hallways, small, tight rooms, and had a maze of directions. There were at least three ways to get to every room. The grim décor cast haunting shadows, and they'd encountered dozens of zombies, crashing through rooms, lying on floors, playing dead. It was terrifying.

"This room is eerily quiet," Richard whispered to Rebecca. A single body lay on the floor, several yards ahead of them. The hallway they were in was reasonably well-lit, but the body made it twice as scary as any other places they'd explored.

"It could either be dead… or it could be playing dead," Rebecca answered apprehensively. This wasn't an arcade game. This was life or death.

"Stay here," Richard ordered her, and he stepped forward tentatively.

He inched forward carefully, and as the body lay dormant, his tension was relieved somewhat.

Then he sighed in relief.

The creature stood with a speed she'd never seen in the creatures, Richard wheeled around and Rebecca opened the door behind her, running. The second Richard made it through the door, she slammed it shut, letting the monster bang against the door hauntingly.

"It's gonna break down the door!" Rebecca cried desperately. "What do we do?"

"I don't know," Richard panicked, his eyes huge. "If we shoot it point blank in the head, we're good. You open the door and the second it opens I'll shoot!"

Rebecca braced herself and turned the knob, throwing the door open as fast as she could.

Even more quickly, Richard threw three shots into the head of the creature.

It fell at his feet, its face human. But instead of gray and rotting, it was red and the fingernails extended grotesquely into claws, the teeth unusually sharp and pointed.

"Rebecca," Richard said suddenly, looking at it. "We were in that room before. We killed that creature before… and it changed."

She froze, a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Well, we've been going in circles, since half the rooms are locked… can zombies be revived?" she demanded.

He shook his head in confusion. "I don't know anything…"

She'd explain everything else to him when they escaped. She couldn't explain everything to him yet.

She needed to find Wesker.


	17. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

**Soo, there's a few surprises in this chapter… read and review, enjoy and be shocked, because this took me forever to get too. It sucks when you have what you think is a brilliant friggin idea, but then you have to work your way up to it and it takes FOREVER? UGH. Lol. **

**Like I said, writing for Rebecca is SOO hard. It should be easier since I'm a girl too, and girls connect easily, but Billy and I have a bond, lol. We see eye to eye. I understand him.**

**Hope you like the end.**

* * *

><p><strong>Trapped<strong>

"The layout of this whole entire place is ridiculous," Rebecca sighed in exasperation. "Where are we even _at_? We need a map or something."

Richard turned towards her tiredly. How had they managed to get out here? She couldn't tell one door from another.

She rounded a corner of what she assumed was the back patio or something, when she almost vomited at the sight before them.

It was an immediate reaction: Rebecca didn't have time to think about it as she sank to her knees.

Forest Speyer sat in front of them, collapsed in a chair, covered in rust-colored dried blood, pock-marks covering his face and arms, his clothes filled with holes and his expression one of a tortured death.

He had been pecked to death. A crowing noise, akin to that of victory, echoed above them in her barely-aware consciousness.

She looked up at the crows and heard a scream. Dimly, she realized it was her own.

At her shout, the crows attacked, and she stood, backing away frantically, batting at them, trying to get away.

She tripped.

"Rebecca!" Richard yelled in concern. He raised his gun and shot into the air, scaring the birds away from them.

She took a shaking breath, as a cold realization stole across her body, leaving numbness in its wake. "Richard…" she would've cried about this a day ago, but now she couldn't bring herself to waste the energy. "We're probably the only ones left." She breathed, looking into his eyes.

He matched her gaze with his strong brown eyes, but didn't answer. He couldn't refute the evidence.

Kenneth, with his slow smile and his deep voice, his steady manners that he brought to everything, was probably dead. Forest was dead. He'd never crack a joke or fight with Chris or have an explosion of temper. Edward was dead. His calmness and his ability to think under pressure would never help them again. Kevin was probably dead. He'd never be a pilot again. He wasn't even a member of Bravo, and he was probably dead because of them. Enrico was probably dead, and she had promised to meet him here, her strong, kind leader.

Alpha team would probably send reinforcements: Bravo team should've returned by now. Wesker was a smart leader, Jill cool and level-headed. Barry had enough weapons to detonate the place, and Joseph and Brad could be counted on to get them safely out of here.

And Chris…

Chris was a hero, in Rebecca's opinion. If anybody could get them out safely, it was Chris. They just had to wait. Alpha team would manage to save them.

If they couldn't, then perhaps nothing could stop this outbreak.

"Jill!" Chris Redfield shouted worriedly. "Jill, where are you? Wesker?"

He sighed. They had probably been curious, tried to look around: and seen the same thing he had.

When he had opened the door and heard the rhythmic smacking noise, he had been excited. Perhaps it was a member of Bravo team!

It was.

He saw Kenneth's outfit before he had fully understood what was happening before his eyes.

Then, the creature kneeling over his friend had turned and stood.

The face was rotted and marked, with holes in the flesh and the eyes eaten at and yellow. Its clothes were rags, and the slow deliberate turning of his head as he smelled Chris, the scent of sweat and the lingering aroma of blood on his jacket…

Chris fucking ran blindly, not knowing what or how or where.

He called Jill's name again, feeling hopeless. Barry disappeared. Joseph was dead. Wesker and Jill…

He didn't know.

He picked up the gun on the ground. It was unmistakably Jill's. His own gun had gone missing.

He checked the gun and sighed in relief. Fifteen bullets: a full magazine.

He had to find everyone.

Chris started to search.

He avoided the hallway he had previously gone through, wandering forever. He was nearly out of bullets when he opened another door, and aimed his gun, hoping to make the last bullet count when the figure turned.

"Who are you!" the small figure demanded.

"Chris Redfield, Alpha Team."

"Alpha Team?" Rebecca Chambers asked, coming forward to stand in the light. She had blood coating her face and her eyes looked haunted, with heavy blue bags underneath them. "Thank goodness!"

Chris resisted the urge to gather his friend into a hug. This wasn't the time. This was about survival.

He heard a moan and instinctively aimed his gun.

"Richard!" he breathed, looking at the Bravo team member. "What happened?"

"Giant… snake," he wheezed.

Rebecca looked at Chris imploringly. "Please… we need serum! There should be a room nearby… if we can get him serum, we can take him back to the room and I'll nurse him. Please Chris!" Rebecca begged her friend.

He nodded and left.

Rebecca knew she could count on him.

Richard hissed out a sigh of pain as the venom continued to pump through his veins. She squeezed his hand comfortingly. The enormous snake had gone for her: and Richard had shoved her out of the way, protecting her.

She bit her lip angrily, drawing blood. When could she protect people, instead of getting protected? She needed to be stronger. This wasn't a time to be weak.

The speed and agility of the creature had caught them unwary and close to defenseless against it. She felt a knot in her stomach and a headache coming on as the flickering lights in the hall made her eyes ache, but she had to be strong.

If Richard died for her…

She wouldn't be able to handle the sheer guilt of it. She had been an idiot, and her selfless friend was paying for it.

The dim lights cast eerie shadows on the walls, but Rebecca was beyond fear at this point. She felt only guilt. Her friends had died facing terror and pain, unable to say their goodbyes. It had been completely unexpected, a mission that was beyond the norm, beyond the natural. What a terrible way to die.

Even if she died now, it wouldn't be the same as Edward's death, as Forest's. Because she had an inkling of the truth, because she had already survived once.

She could do it twice.

Billy Coen woke up with a goddamn headache.

For a few glorious moments, he felt the comfort of well-worn cotton sheets, of a warm blanket, of the fresh scent of clean air.

But then he fucking realized that he shouldn't be comfortable.

Billy shot up out of the bed he'd been lying in and searched for his gun. In the past few hours, the weapon had become his greatest ally.

"So, you're finally awake," a sultry voice drawled from the corner of the room.

The corner of the nice, neat room.

The walls were painted a sunny yellow, the windows were opened, shielded by lacy curtains, the night air sweet and fresh. The room was dark, but he could see the clean white sheets of the king-sized bed he'd just been sleeping in.

"After I knocked you out and brought you here, I gave you a very necessary shower, and clean clothes."

Billy looked down at his black boxers. "Not much clothing," he retorted, crossing his arms across his chest. "Who are you again?"

The woman stood, her frame startlingly similar to Rebecca's. "Ada Wong. I work for the same organization as you."

"I don't work for any Organization," Billy answered, realizing he was a fugitive. He had no affiliations.

The shadows playing across her face gave her a haunted look. "You do now. You will work for us or be sent to the Marines to serve your sentence. It was your mother's wish that you continue her line of work, and I intend to see her wishes through."

Billy was so thrown off by the reference to his mother that he was almost rendered speechless.

Almost.

"You know my mother?" he demanded of the woman in red.

Red…

The flash-back to his sightings in Africa cued. "You were in Africa, weren't you?"

The young woman nodded. "I've been an agent for many years," she replied clearly. "And it had been my duty to watch you since the death of your grandparents." Her voice was toneless, her face expressionless. Billy kept himself as stoic as possible.

As possible as it was to be, since he was being informed that he'd been stalked for the past eight years of his goddamn life. Jesus H, he had never known much about his mother's career, but this was bullshit.

"In Africa, I was dealing with you, as well as another mission. I met you in Arklay because I need to scope out the areas around Raccoon City."

Billy continued to glare at her. She suddenly met his gaze and her eyes were molten.

"Well, Mr. Coen… you're going to be staying with me quite a long time. We're going to get very… well… aquainted."

He stopped her with an icy gaze. "You're going to explain every fucking little piece of my life to me before you try to acquaint yourself with me," he told her concisely. "Tell me everything you know."

She spoke briefly, giving a summary rather than a story. He didn't know if he preferred her curt attitude or if he'd wanted all the details. But either way, it was bad enough to leave him bloodless.

"Your mother met a man who worked for the Umbrella, and had you," she began, illustrating more about his paternity in one sentence than his mother ever had. "He was killed for knowing too much without the proper attitude. Your mother founded the organization you now work for, to combat Umbrella."

Billy gave no reaction to her words. Christ. Had Umbrella really had that much impact on his life? Was he, like Rebecca, being trained and groomed like a lab rat?

She raised her eyebrows at his blank expression and continued mercilessly: "She wanted revenge obviously, and went out scouting members. One was me, an illegal Asian immigrant. When I was a kid, my parents were experimented on by an Asian branch of Umbrella, and I was shoved into a generic orphanage. I escaped to America," she told him, as if she was telling him that it was warm outside, a fact with no emotional ties. "And eventually met your mother, who trained me."

Billy had to ask a question now. "My mother recruited a child?"

Ada looked at him, her eyes hard and brittle at the edges. "I knew the risks more than anyone," she told him icily. "When your grandparents died, your mother decided my main mission would be keeping an eye on you. Not interfering as much as watching."

"Why?" he demanded, unable to understand his mother's logic.

"Because Anna Richmond's parents worked for Umbrella, and knowing that your family was in the vehicle, sent a car after you, with the intent to sacrifice their daughter if it meant your mother was eliminated," she recited. He had a cold feeling that she'd said those words before.

But then it really fucking hit him.

The reason why Anna had never seen her parents, why she'd been so wealthy, so smart, was because of her parents. They had willingly killed their kid for the chance at hurting his mother.

And it had fucking backfired.

He'd lost the love of his goddamn life to forces beyond their comprehension, their awareness. He'd lost his family because some idiot had decided to play God.

"Then my mother was hit again," Billy breathed.

"The plan was apparently to take you both out, since you were a possible threat. Although I don't follow the logic. You wouldn't have had a reason to become a threat, until they targeted you. Their idiocy is our gain," she finished. "I've decided to carry out my mission in deference to your mother."

He glared at her. "How the hell do you plan on doing that?"

She stepped up to him and ran her forefinger down his chest coyly. "I'll break you in," she whispered, and Billy's tortured libido gave in.

He was trapped.

Billy gripped her and pressed his lips to her violently, half punishing her, half ravishing her.

But Ada Wong wasn't a woman to be conquered. She kissed him back with equal force, deepening the kiss, reveling in the bruising caresses as he familiarized himself with her body.

Eagerly, she matched him, her passion inflaming his own. It felt surreal to be doing something as normal as sex.

He wasn't talking to his dead girlfriend, he wasn't fighting zombies with a teenaged genius, he wasn't locked in an asylum, he wasn't in another goddamn country, on another fuckin' continent, and best of all, he wasn't dreaming.

The curves and contours of this woman's body were real and vibrant, the curve of her hips and pert bottom warm and muscled beneath his hands, her body welcoming, flesh and blood.

He ran his hands down her body and relished the feel of live, giving woman against him.

But it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

He shoved her against the wall, not caring if it hurt her, lost in lust. He lifted her, shoving her groin against him until she was trapped between two hard places, writhing against him happily, not at all uncomfortable in her position.

She began to shove her hips forward and back, and he caught the rhythm, mashing himself against her welcoming body.

Beneath the red dress she wore was nothing, no barrier covering her core, revealing it to the world.

She pulled at his boxers desperately, the monster of desire overpowering them both. Shoving his chest against her, anchoring her to the wall, he pushed down the boxers she had put on him mere hours ago, in his unconscious.

With her dress riding against her hips, he rubbed himself against her eagerly, but refusing to enter her yet. He wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt him, and this was the only way he could think to do it, by slowly torturing her.

She groaned and moaned and fought and writhed, and Billy loved every second of the hot, sensuous torture.

He let go of her, letting her wetness slide down her leg as she was released from his grasp. The second she shakily stood, her feet on the ground, he pushed her onto the bed, and she tore off her dress, sitting in only a bra of red silk

He released the snap with practiced skill and began to focus on her small breasts, devoting as much attention to them as he could, loving the curve of her waist and the smoothness of the skin on the inside of her arm, the backs of her knees as he kissed her, tasted her sweat.

Even in his anger, Billy noticed how sculptured her body was, small and curved with muscles in the right places and softness in even righter places. The light hair that fuzzed across her body made the soft pleasure of her skin even more wonderful.

Her nipples were large and dark, a light purple color in hue and the outer ring slightly darker. He tasted them until they were hard with desire and ribbed with goosebumps, telltale signs of her lust.

She soaked against him, ready for release, but not begging. Ada Wong did not beg. She took matters into her own hands.

Literally.

When Billy felt himself being pulled into her hot little hands, he almost gave up then and there. But this was not just the releasing of stress and lust and satiation. This was about winning.

Billy was not one to lose.

But he was also never one to deny himself either.

Her skilled fingers played with him, and while she was preoccupied, he kissed her ear, the delicate shell of it, blushed pink and pretty. He ran fingers through her hair, down her body, until she was just as close as she was.

Then he shoved a single finger up her wet slit, fast and hard, until she was deliriously close to finishing.

Then he took it out and looked her in the eye.

"Beg," he commanded her coldly.

She looked at him with hazy, lustful eyes. But like him, she was proud, stubborn, and stronger than passion.

"No," she answered, looking right back at him, matching him.

He got off her, his flag waving an obvious sign of his desire, but his face composed and his movements controlled.

He gave her a pointed look.

She shrugged. "If you won't, I will," she answered cunningly, and right in front of him, began to pleasure herself, ignoring him completely.

Her moans spiraled as she came closer and closer to her own release, by her own hand.

But Billy didn't give up easily.

He laid on top of her and grabbed her wrists, forcing them away from her pleasure, elicting a defeated, distressed gasp from her. She'd thought she outsmarted him.

She bucked against him, her body searching her purchase, for something to grip, to finish. She was seconds away, a heartbeat away, so close to release, sweet release…

"Beg," he growled.

The stalemate continued for several moments as she remained silent, except for a few desperate whimpers.

"Fuck me," she invited him.

It wasn't begging.

But small though it was, it was a victory.

Billy turned her around so her groin met his and he plumbed her, both of them finding their pleasure within heartbeats of each other, the scent of sex permeating the air and the fumes of an unhealthy relationship growing with every second.


	18. Soul Searching

**Author's Note:**

**I'm assuming not too many people enjoyed the whole Ada/Billy thing... the lack of reviews tells me that. Well, what do you expect from Ada? **

**Personally, I love her as a character. She's so interesting and enigmatic. And Billy is a virile, angry young man lol. It fits my story.**

**Like I said, the Rebecca bits are kinda skewed, since I'm gonna put some of Jill's in there, since I want Barry to live! He's canon and lives so they all live, woohoo. **

**Sorry I've been so long to update: my internet's been down, I just got it up right now, as well as school totally eating my life. I'm tired all the time, between school and work and everything. All I do is sleep, it's horrible. **

**Updates will probably be slower): unfortunately. I'm honestly too exhausted to do this. But I'm still continuing it! I still have miles to go before I finish xD**

**Soul Searching**

Rebecca looked at Richard as he slept, his unconscious plagued with nightmares. She took a shaky breath and checked the door again nervously, out of habit and anxiety.

Chris had brought them the serum and she had treated Richard. Being the all-around good guy he was, Chris carried Richard to a safe room, which miraculously had a bed.

The door creaked open and Rebecca's heart dropped to her stomach. She almost threw up. Her frayed nerves were getting to her, she realized. Zombies didn't turn knobs. They broke down doors.

Chris staggered in, holding a wound to his shoulder. Rebecca stood automatically. "Chris!" she hissed, superstitious to the point where speaking was taboo. The walls had ears.

He looked at her, clutching the bleeding arm. "Hey," he blinked at her.

She nearly toppled over in her worry. She half-ran, half-staggered to him and pried his fingers away. "It doesn't look bad," she mused. "I can bandage this easily. It's a clean wound, which is good… do you want me to heal your wounds?"

He nodded at her gratefully. "Thanks, Rebecca. I'm counting on you."

A glow of pride surged through Rebecca. That phrase had never been directed at her. Chris Redfield, _superman_, American _dream_, _adult_, was looking at her with gratitude as she helped him with something he couldn't do on his own. She was useful, helpful. She was taking care of her ally, of her superior, of her friend.

At this moment, this second, this heartbeat, she was indispensible. She was necessary. She wasn't a waste of space, a nuisance, a child.

She busily got to work helping Chris, keeping an ear out for Richard. Feeling helpful was absolutely heavenly. It was also alien.

All her life, Rebecca had been tolerated. She'd been one of many children in the orphanage, then she'd been the genius who required her own room and monopolized the time of one of the only teachers. Then she'd been the child in college, always needing special treatment, never connecting with anyone.

But not anymore.

She had Chris, and Claire, and even Billy. Johnson was like a father to her, but she needed friends, like Jacob, like her STARS teammates.

But now, she was losing them, one by one. Jacob and Claire in college, getting the experience she could never have: parties and friends. Chris and Richard stuck in a hell-hole with her. Billy on the run for his life, and even more importantly, his freedom.

Absently, she wondered about him. Where he'd go, what he'd do. He was smart, she knew, but so was she, and in all honesty she couldn't think of a single place to go. Mexico? Canada? Europe?

No… maybe Billy wasn't as smart as her, but he was definitely cleverer. He would think of something. She trusted him with her life: of course she could trust him with his own.

"Better?" she asked Chris softly, looking at her young friend.

The man looked at her with affection. "Thanks, Rebecca."

Although the exchange was short, it spoke volumes. Chris Redfield was a man to be counted on. The fact that he was giving her his gratitude was close to humbling.

He left, and Rebecca dozed a little, daydreaming off and on, caught aware and ready at any sound, any second's notice.

But when she did wake up next, she was curled on the bed Richard had been sleeping in, with a note on the chair.

_Rebecca,_

_Going to go help Chris. Left you extra ammo,_

_Richard_

"Where on earth did he get a pen?" Rebecca wondered exasperatedly. It was just like Richard to let her rest. She noticed that her gun was strategically placed on the chair so she could grip it in a heartbeat if anything tried to break through the door.

The rest had her feeling much better. She wondered how long she'd been out.

Grabbing her gun, she decided to try and look for them. The mansion was big, but it wasn't a maze, she could figure out her way through.

She checked her gun and grabbed a first-aid spray. She was being paranoid, probably, but better safe than dead. Much better.

But the second she stepped out the door, an eerie moan echoed through the hallway.

The second footsteps began to beat down the staircase in front of her, Rebecca tore off and ran. She had never felt herself go faster than she did now. She didn't even see her enemy until she turned around and slammed the door behind her, making sure that it couldn't follow her.

Forest.

She bit her lip to keep from vomiting, and the blood welled up in her mouth instantly. She swallowed the bitter, rusty mouthful and ran through the hall.

Forest.

She kept on going, hyperaware of her surroundings, yet at the same time, almost oblivious to them.

Which is why she almost screamed when she barreled full-force into Chris.

He looked down at her, grabbed her, and pulled her into a room.

The room was large and dusty, with a large piano the center of attention. Eager for a sense of normalcy, and remembering Billy's skill, Rebecca read the sheet in front of her, and sloppily rendered the Moonlight Sonata.

Chris covered his ears for the final few notes. "What was that?" he demanded, halfway between laughter and exasperation.

She shot him a rueful grin, thinking of Billy. "My version?"

He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you… practice for a while. I think I'm close to finding Jill."

She nodded and played the song again. Chris listened, more appreciative. Her progress was quick: she could play, she just needed to familiarize herself with the notes. But then, as he was leaving, a thought struck her.

"Hey, where's Richard?" she queried, hoping he hadn't returned to the safe room. Not with Forest there, and her not.

Even thinking about it made her ill, but she was quickly learning to block it out, as if it were a horror movie. Every second of peace that she had was used to help herself cope.

Chris' face immediately fell. Rebecca knew the news almost before he told her. "Richard was killed." He told her abruptly.

Out of all the things she had gone through, that one sentence nearly brought her to her knees. She could handle the uncertainty of Billy's fate, the terror of seeing Forest, the guilt of lying to Enrico, seeing Edward become a creature. But Richard was the closest to her age, kindly and self-sacrificing to the point where it was almost unrealistic.

"He died saving me."

Rebecca understood it immediately. Richard acted to save two lives: Chris', and her own. By saving Chris, he was effectively giving Rebecca a stronger chance of survival as well. She was twice as likely to survive with Chris than himself, and he knew it.

Rebecca threw herself into playing, not noticing when Chris left, or even when he returned.

She finished the song flawlessly, and heard a rough noise behind her. Warily turning, she saw a hole in the wall grow, an exact replica of the one Billy had unlocked.

She knew she had to come clean to Chris now, before they got themselves burrowed any deeper into this cesspool.

"Chris," she hesitated. Would he be upset with her?

He looked at her, his eyes filled with guilt, compassion, and determination.

The confession flowed out of her. "Chris, Umbrella is behind the whole thing. Before Alpha came, I—" she didn't want to tell him about Billy. He wouldn't understand. "I found an abandoned facility, and it was owned by Umbrella. The virus, the thing that makes the zombies, it was created by a man named Marcus. Umbrella is behind this whole thing."

Chris' face didn't look surprised, as much as resigned. "Thank you," he told Rebecca tiredly.

The news seemed to have taken ten years of his life. He suddenly seemed older, wearier.

She immediately decided that she couldn't possibly tell him about Billy. Chris had enough to worry about.

She'd help him out. "We'll scour this place," she promised him, referring to Barry, Wesker, and Jill.

He nodded, gratitude filling his features, expanding them from the tight, pinched expression. "Let's do it," he clapped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

She gulped and nodded bravely, pasting on a smile.

Billy stared with his arms crossed at Ada.

She stared back. "You're going to be my partner. But first, you have to do your homework."

"Homework?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"I'm the boss. I tell you what to do, where we're going, and if we finish successfully, why." She snapped at him. "That's all you need to know."

Billy tried to keep his cool. But she was fucking annoying. "_Right_. What happens when I _disobey_ your _orders_," he sneered at her, curling his fists.

"I kill you." She answered simply, her eyes cool and level, meeting his with a challenge.

The fucking bitch. "Then why bother to save me?"

She looked at him. Clearly, she wasn't relishing the idea of actually having a conversation with him. "I wasn't supposed to. But since I have, we play by the rules now, every step of the way. I did this for your mother: if you cross me, I'll kill you in a second. I put my life on the line for you."

It was the most he'd get out of her. This was clearly a woman of few words, who enjoyed silence and solitude and mystery. Fucking stubborn bitch.

"You'll find out more as you go along," she answered firmly. "For now, you can review these," she handed him a stack of thick papers. "Missions that could be assigned to you in the next three months. Then you're mine… partner."

Her smooth voice was malicious, and Billy couldn't help but wonder at her intentions. With every word she spoke, he only thought of more questions. She was an enigma, shrouded in secrets.

"I won't put up with your shit," he told her, icicles dripping from his words. "You have the upper hand right now, but you won't for long."

"I have seniority," she smirked at him.

Why did she hate giving information? Would he become like her?

Billy accepted his fate. It didn't seem like too bad of a life: pretty similar to what he had in the military. He had Ada to fuck, Anna to wait for; Rebecca to worry about, and _apparently_ he had a job to do.

He could do this.

The files he read seemed to be in another language. They spoke of people he'd never heard of, and there were more X's and O's than his high school algebra textbook. He could hardly make sense of the long-winded rambling papers. He managed to grasp the gist of the first, and decided to skim the rest.

What Ada had told him wasn't necessarily true. Although the organization had been created to combat Umbrella, it served its own purposes just as well. Which apparently included aiding Umbrella.

He wondered if it had been like this before his mother's death.

One file caught his eye: to spy on, then to assassinate a pair of Umbrella's researchers: a couple by the name of Richmond.

This file, he absorbed. He read every word, every letter, even the details that completely eluded him. They'd been party to several plots against the lives of organization members, and were highly respected within Umbrella.

Billy, morbidly interested, opened the packet that was paper clipped to the information. Out slid photos and more detailed information.

Height. Approximate weight. Hair color, eye color. Skin tone. Family history of diseases. History of education and career.

Family.

There was a daughter who had been killed, at the age of eighteen. She had been killed in a car crash, and it was suspected that the car which had killed her was sent by her own parents, to assassinate a member of the organization.

Every word, every pristine black letter, printed neatly like marching ants across the white page, slammed into him. He went numb for a second: he wasn't angry, or upset. Billy felt no emotion. A wave, a river, a sea of calm had come over him as he realized his entire life had been spun in a web of deceit and betrayals. He was twenty-six goddamn years old and he had next no control over his life.

He lost a father before he had one. He lost Anna, his grandparents, his mother. He lost his normal life as he joined the Marines.

Becoming paranoid, Billy wondered if Regan, the father of the same girl he fucked and left so many years ago, had purposely sentenced him. Not out of any thirst for justice, but out of revenge for the daughter he spoiled.

Billy had been hungry earlier, but now the rumbling in his stomach ceased. Now he hungered for answers.

Where could he get information?

Ada knew more, much more than she'd even hinted at knowing. If Billy wanted to learn the truth, he'd need to learn secrets.

He'd chosen his mission.

He'd chosen his path.

And from now on, nobody else would decide for him. Not even the bitch in the red dress.

Rebecca wasn't afraid anymore. All of the horrors in this place, she'd seen with Billy. She was comforted by the fact that Chris would stop everything that had happened.

Chris had found the truth: he'd found out more than she. Albert Wesker, the cool, calculating captain had become a traitor.

For Umbrella.

No, not even for Umbrella: he betrayed them too. He was a triple crosser, a master of lies, a weaver of deceit.

He had shot her.

She lay on the ground, in agony, close to unconsciousness. She heard gunshots: moans of pain.

The vest she wore protected her. There was plenty of blood, as the bullet had gone through her skin: but she would not die, unless she continued to lay here, immobilized. Blood loss would kill her, with enough time: but she'd faced worse, even before these past two nights.

Maybe her spleen had ruptured. Maybe she had bruised her liver. She couldn't even think, couldn't analyze the situation. Maybe she had bronchitis.

She was in a haze of pain. Memories flashed before her eyes: pleasant ones. She remembered the curve of Lindsey's smile, the snarky remarks Kyle made. She remembered the scholarly attitude Mr. Johnson always oozed. She dreamt of the crinkles around Jacob's eyes when he frowned, or worried. She saw Claire's big blue eyes wink at her, her body poised, laughing. She saw Chris helping her with her bag, the day they met.

It was nice to think about good things, she decided hazily. She needed to get up though. No more sleeping.

When she stood, Wesker's body lay, mutilated. An enormous hole in his stomach revealed the bloody décor behind him. It was fascinating. She'd taken an anatomy class, but she'd never seen any dissection as unprofessional as this.

Another, huger body lay there too. But she stared at the face woozily. It had been human. This creature had once been a person.

She touched the face, her horror and disgust battling with her compassion, her sense of nostalgia. She wasn't frightened: it was dead.

She turned around and looked at the floating tanks of humans. It truly was terrible. Rebecca would he scarred for life, if she truly thought about it.

Rebecca looked at each person, wondering what their lives had been.

Until she saw a particular face, so dear, so familiar, even after all these years.

Lindsey.

Rebecca didn't believe it for a second. It couldn't be her, not at all. She had been adopted.

She completely and wholeheartedly believed it.

How much of her life had Umbrella controlled?

She touched the glass gently, tenderly. How long had Lindsey been tortured like this? Had she truly been adopted then sent here? Weeks? Months? Years?

Rebecca sensed that Lindsey had been here for years. her body, her face was the same human figure it had always been. She had probably been alive, at least until everyone in the mansion had died.

Rebecca, while wandering about, had heard moans and groans and screams, soul-rattling shrieks that were far more terrifying than anything she'd ever seen.

She had, at one point, caught a glimpse of it. She had seen the creature. She didn't believe it was real. A hideous mockery of womanhood, with bent and twisted limbs, gnarled like an old tree. Tattered robes covering the sallow skin, the pallid flesh contrasting gruesomely with the matted hair.

Rebecca was only relieved she didn't see the eyes of the monster. The chains, groaning and hitting the ground, scratching like nail on a chalkboard.

She stood straighter and turned away from her friend.

She wouldn't follow her fate.

She was going to escape.

As she left the room, Chris called her name. "Rebecca!" he yelled eagerly.

Jill was with him. She knew what she could do.

"I can probably find a bomb or set off a self destruct mechanism," Rebecca told him, her voice normal, despite her heart pounding. She felt sick. "A place like this… is bound to have one!" she finished, her voice oddly loud and cheery. She struggled for control.

She meandered off slowly and found it. It was amazing how simple it was, how obvious it was. Anyone could've shut it off in seconds, any employee. She wondered why they hadn't. Probably they'd been killed off by the giant monsters.

_She_ would've, if it weren't for her prior experience and Chris' wonderful aim. He was the best shot in STARS. She was so proud of her friend. They could survive. They could get out. And if not: she'd blow the place up with them in it.

Rebecca struggled to find her way back to Chris.

Jill was with him.

Rebecca felt relief flood over her. Kind, calm Jill Valentine had been rescued. Chris had found her: Wesker was dead.

And even behind her, she heard a grunt. Barry!

She was nearly blinded from the pain, but she smiled at them as the self-destruct warning rang.

A clang echoed in the behind them as they ran to the elevator. Rebecca looked at the three. "You go," she panted. "I'll stay here and take care of it!"

Chris looked uncertain. Jill shook her head fiercely. "No! We're getting out together."

Barry gave her a look. "No, Jill! Rebecca and I can take care of it. We'll meet you up there!"

Rebecca felt an overflow of love and gratitude for the heavily muscled older man. He grinned at her as she aimed her gun.

The elevator bleeped behind them, signaling Chris and Jill's ascension.

A creature came bounding up, huge and ugly.

The enormous, ugly man creature. Tyrant.

It towered, and slowly, angrily came after them, as if its rage were palpable, icy cold, hindering its step. It was wounded: Chris had seen to that.

But it was very much alive.

Barry and Rebecca shot together, the continuous sound of bullets from his magnum and her weak handgun knocking it down.

The elevator bleeped again and Rebecca hit the button frantically, while Barry aimed warily. "Hurry, hurry!" she hissed, her stomach turning roiling in terror. They were cornered.

The doors opened and Rebecca hopped in, slamming the _close_ button. Agonizingly slow, she and Barry began to climb up through the layers of earth.

She clenched her gun close to her. It wasn't much defense, and it was nothing to Barry's magnum, but it was 100 percent better than nothing.

They made it to the top and Rebecca hurled herself out, running for safe ground.

"Brad! It's us!" Jill shouted futilely into a walkie-talkie while Chris was setting up a flare.

The firework whistled into the air and Rebecca could've collapsed. The joy, the relief. Saved. Brad was coming. They had an escape route.

Saved. Free.

At least, until the Tyrant came barreling from beneath the earth, angrier than ever…


	19. Settling the Score

**Author's Note:**

**Hii guys, it's me, updating earlier than I thought. :D Thanks to all my reviewers and my subscribers, you all are so nice! **

**The ball's starting to roll now…**

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><p><strong>Settling the Score<strong>

She opened her eyes: feeling warm and safe, breathing clean air. Between her slowly separating lids was a soft light. She opened her eyes eagerly, and saw Jill Valentine sitting quietly in a chair.

"Jill!" she sighed in relief, her throat hoarse and dry. She tried to sit up, but felt a dull roar echo in her stomach. "What happened?" she hissed in pain, sliding back down.

Jill looked at her. Her left arm was cradled by cloth: she had probably sprained her wrist. She had several scratches and bruises decorating her arms, and her face was brightly colored by a purple-blue bruise, covering half her face. Rebecca guessed she was in equally bad shape. "Wesker led us into a trap. Brad, Chris, Barry, you and I managed to survive," she answered somberly, in her clear, strong voice. "He ran away. You managed to blow up the place, which is such a relief, but we were attacked by something called the Tyrant: that huge thing nearly killed you, and Chris told me how Wesker shot you. You bruised your liver, fractured two ribs, and sprained your ankle when Tyrant attacked us."

"What happened to you?" Rebecca asked the older women, referring to her face.

She touched it tenderly and replied. "Wesker kept us separated. He hit me in the face," Her expression showed disgust.

Rebecca had so many questions. "Barry? Brad? Chris?"

Jill answered each one carefully, in her meticulous way. "Barry was part of Wesker's plot," her sad voice carried around the room. "He changed heart, though, when he discovered Wesker's true nature. He's mostly unharmed. Brad is completely fine. The coward flew away before anything even started. He rescued us though," she reflected, mostly to herself. "So I can't be too cruel."

Can't be too cruel? Rebecca was horrified at the very idea of it. "And Chris?" she asked, holding her breath. She could hardly remember anything: nothing but the creature slamming up behind her.

"Chris is perfectly fine," Jill's disgust was half amusement. "Besides for a few cuts that needed stitches, he had no broken bones, few bruises, anything."

"He's inhuman," Rebecca rolled her eyes and let out a choking giggle. They were alive. She was giddy: ecstatic. Until something hit her. "Everyone else is gone," she realized, sobering quickly. "I saw Edward and Forest myself."

"I watched Enrico and Joseph die," Jill answered somberly.

Rebecca nodded sagely. "Chris told me Richard—" tears welled up in her eyes. Something about Richard's death was particularly repulsive. "Sacrificed—"

She couldn't finish. The grief was finally hitting her. It was too late to be scared: to be relieved. The moment was past. But now she could fully experience what it felt like to shoot Edward, to lie to Enrico, to lose Richard, to see Forest. Her friends: her comrades.

It felt like a lifetime ago that she had bonded with Billy, had trusted him and let him leave. She touched her lips, remembering the quick kiss of ecstasy he had given her in his relief and excitement. She remembered their good bye.

She remembered him almost dying, she remembered her terror when she had left him for seconds: meeting Edward's undead frame, lying to Enrico, straight to his face. She remembered holding Richard's hand as the poison seeped through his bloodstream, healing Chris as he grinned bravely and unconcernedly, the front all of them had put on.

The façade of bravery was no longer necessary, but Rebecca found she preferred it. As much as she respected Jill Valentine, this wasn't the time to burst into girlish tears of sorrow.

"Are we going to have a service?" Rebecca asked quietly.

Jill's grief was evident in every life of her serious face. Her blue eyes seemed to be a pool of tears. "Irons—" she took a second to compose herself. "He doesn't believe us. He thinks that someone killed the team, that we all went mad from the shock. Barry's planning on moving away, far away, as soon as he can get a house. He wants to be somewhere he can protect his wife, his kids. Wesker threatened them." Jill paused, as if she knew she was rambling. She took a calming breath. "That's why Barry did what he did. But Chris wants to take down Umbrella."

"What are you going to do?" Rebecca asked the older woman.

Jill looked thoughtful. "I might go with Chris: but I might stay here. This town needs someone to tell the truth. Brad's staying too."

They had plans. What could Rebecca do now? She was beyond her usefulness as a medic for STARS.

Umbrella was behind this all.

"I'm with Chris." Rebecca stated decisively. "I'm going to take down Umbrella. From the outside in."

Jill looked amused. Rebecca wasn't offended. She'd gotten that reaction before. "And how are you going to do that?"

Rebecca looked straight at Jill, deciding to trust her. "Umbrella wants to hire me as a scientist." She answered simply. "I'll keep in contact with Chris, and you."

Jill gazed at her, wordlessly disbelieving. Rebecca nodded emphatically to prove her point.

"As soon as I get out," she told Jill. "I'm going to accept a position at Umbrella. I'm going to find out as much as I can."

"They aren't going to make you head researcher of the T virus as soon as they hire you!" Jill pointed out logically. "What are you going to do until then?"

Rebecca was young. She had _more_ than _plenty_ of time. "I'm going to wait," she answered simply, and settled down in her pillows.

Billy Coen had been spying on the Richmonds for three days. He was far from a master, like Ada, who'd followed him for years without him having even an inkling of her presence. But they noticed nothing. And Billy learned.

Anna's mother was a tall, beautifully blonde woman. Unlike her daughter, her stature came from her towering height, rather than any voluptuousness. She shared eyes with Anna, but her nose was a beak. She reminded Billy of an ostrich.

Her father, however, was portly, as tall as his wife, and classically good-looking. He had a sculptured face, as if it had been carved from marble. Billy was impressed.

He inconspicuously went through the streets and saw people he recognized: Rosa, smiling and athletic as ever. Fucking Charlene, always hanging on the arm of some guy. Christ, she was twenty six. John, with a hugely pregnant wife. He watched them too, out of morbid curiosity. Could his life have been like that?

What if they'd been free from conspiracy, Anna and he. What if they'd been married by now: Billy working an average job, with Anna pregnant and bloated and moody and beautiful. Absolutely beautiful through it all.

It wouldn't have mattered if her ankles had swollen, or if she broke out, if she was cranky and craved weird shit. He loved her. He still did. He still longed to hear her voice, and hoped proximity to her parents would cause her to stir.

Billy was walking along the road, quietly, alone. It was early in the morning, and there weren't many people out yet. The occasional car, people calling for taxis, people opening their shops.

What set him off was harmless really. A simple horn honking.

But when the sound reached Billy, it became gunshots. The dew on the street, the cool air, became blood and water, the water of the ocean, the blood of the tribesmen in Africa. The simple, inconspicuous outfit he wore became his well-worn uniform. He ducked for cover when he heard the gunshot, rolled around, searching for the shooter.

Where had it come from? Had it shot anyone?

But when Billy turned, he had no comrades. Not even goddamn Chet. All he could see for miles was plain earth.

So where was the shooter? A sniper was possible: he might not even see it, might mistake it for a goddamn pebble.

So he had to move.

Billy ran, fast as he could, making sure he wasn't an easy target. Fucking snipers. Where the fuck was his gun?

He stopped.

Why the fuck didn't he have a gun?

"_Billy_," a faint, hoarse voice whispered to him.

He didn't even breathe.

"_You have to move forward. Take three steps_." The voice coaxed, so quiet he had to strain to hear it over the hundreds of gunshots that were suddenly happening around him.

Why weren't they hitting him?

"_Billy_…"

He did as the voice had told him and stopped again. The voice was irresistible.

_Anna_!

Billy woke up with a flash and realized that fucking cards had been honking at him. He'd been standing in the middle of the godforsaken street like an idiot. Fucking shit.

How did he always manage to make himself look like an ass?

He privately hoped Ada didn't know about his PTSD. It was one thing for a girl like Rebecca to know: but if Ada knew, his ego would explode, disintegrate. Poof.

Fucking poof.

Jacob's smiling face peered over Rebecca as she opened her eyes, her head aching. "Rebecca!" he crowed. "I'm so glad you're alright!"

Despite his smile, Rebecca could see the stressed lines of his face. She immediately felt guilty. She had hardly thought about him in the past few days.

Then she realized the ridiculousness of her guilt. She'd been fighting for her life, and she was feeling guilty for not calling her boyfriend?"

"Of course I'm fine," she reassured him, wondering what he'd been told. A field injury, obviously: but what?

"I can't believe this was a success," he confessed to her, his eyes troubled. "Rebecca, those cannibals were crazy! They could've killed you. Do you really think this is the kind of job you should be pursuing?"

Rebecca inwardly seethed. How could he tell her what was dangerous or not?

Surprised by her own reaction, she held her tongue. He had no idea. He couldn't understand. How could she even understand?

But she had a plan now.

"I'm resigning from STARS," she told him. "I'm going to be in Umbrella like Johnson."

The name felt ages away.

His smile was brilliant as it broke across his face like cracking cement, his white teeth bright and the lines of worry disappearing. "I'm so glad!"

Rebecca, for perhaps the first time, looked at the young man she'd called hers for so many years. Why was she with him? Really and truly, why did she spend so much of her life with him? Why did she share so much with him?

She honestly couldn't remember. But guilt flooded her. How could she just end it, with him constantly worrying over her?

He loved her.

She suddenly wished beyond anything, beyond Umbrella and Billy and Chris and Claire, beyond STARS, that she loved him back.

Pushing aside her own emotions, she tried to think about Jacob's. He loved her. She focused on that.

"Yes…" she said quietly to herself. "When can I go home?"

Jacob's young, relieved face beamed. "Johnson said he'd pick you up today. I got here early. Lots of bed rest and everything…" as he chattered, a thought struck Rebecca.

Was Umbrella paying for this hospital visit?

The answer would prompt her next move.

Billy killed them.

He killed his dead girlfriend's unfeeling parents. He tried to justify it by telling himself the world was better off without them, but he knew it was a lie.

He killed two people.

"Just add it to the total," he scoffed to himself. Twenty-five. That was more than two dozen. Billy Coen, serial killer.

He didn't shoot them: Ada warned him it was a bad idea. Loud and messy. Instead, he quietly knocked them out and injected them with a serum Ada had given him. He planted heroin throughout the house, in odd places, so that would be accepted as the cause. Odd, but possible.

The bruises would never appear, so no one would know. The serum would disappear from their systems without a trace.

He had killed two people.

Not a whisper from Anna.

He left silently, leaving not a trace or fingerprint.

Instead, he left his soul.

Billy felt distant from the real world. It didn't feel as if it had really happened. The past few days had been surreal. He could hardly believe it had been days.

Fucking zombies.

When Billy returned to the tiny, inconspicuous apartment he now shared with Ada, a man was waiting there with her.

He noticed she wore a figure-flattering red shirt that reached her thighs, wearing tight black shorts beneath them. The man sat at the rickety kitchen table, a mug of coffee held in his hands protectively. He stood when Billy came in.

Billy merely looked at him, still feeling off. It had been so easy to kill them. He couldn't believe he'd taken two lives.

He suddenly felt an intense desire to go to church.

"You guys are moving," the man told him briskly. "You've accomplished your first assignment, Coen, and so you and Ada are going to go to Raccoon City for your next one."

Billy wondered how he could be so business-like and nonchalant.

The man was younger than Billy himself. His brown eyes and hair, as well as an average frame gave the impression of a normal guy.

But the grace of his movements showed Billy a man long used to this job.

"Raccoon City?" Billy asked, thinking of the Arklay Mountains. "What are we doing there?"

The man looked at Ada briefly before answering. "You, Coen, will be helping Ada hunt for the locations of the more well-protected Umbrella labs…"

"Then what?"

"Then Ada will tell you," the man promised before downing the coffee. "I'm leaving. Be out of here in an hour. The van will arrive in exactly one hour, so be ready."

Ada nodded, used to this protocol.

After the man left, Billy looked at Ada. "What the hell?"

"We don't stay in the same place long." She answered coolly.

"What happens when Umbrella's over? What will you do?"

She looked at Billy piercingly. Then, amusement in her sultry eyes, she answered sarcastically. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Before Billy could respond, voice his annoyance at his ignorance, Ada continued in a gentler tone. "Give it time. You'll know everything you need to know, soon."

Billy rolled his eyes at her glib assurances, but before he could formulate a scathing response, he caught a glimpse of something in her eyes, different from her usual sarcasm and enigmatic responses. Something akin to empathy.

"Who was that man?" he asked in a warmer tone.

She looked at him, and decided it was safe for him to know. "He doesn't have a last name, that I know of, at least."

Billy couldn't help but desire for more knowledge: he thirsted for answers, for information. Raccoon City? Umbrella facilities?

Was everything they did part of a greater scheme? Was everything entangled like a goddamn web? Was any step taken without carefully referring to the previous movement, to how it would ripple the next one?

Billy couldn't continue to wonder for much longer. But hopefully he'd get more answers soon. The least he could get was this single one.

"What's his first name?" he asked her.

She looked at him briefly. They had no clothes she couldn't stick in a backpack, and that was all they needed. He assumed that there'd be everything they needed at the next place, as there had been here. A basic, dingy apartment with the necessities, a fresh toothbrush and toilet paper.

Ada wiped down the coffee cup belonging to the man, and set it back in the cupboard for whoever would come next. "You can call him Kyle," she answered simply.

Rebecca was stuck in a wheel chair and rolled out to Johnson. She ignored the nurse's chatter and sat in the back, mindful of her painful midriff. Johnson looked at her painfully. She wished Jacob weren't in the car, so she could talk to him. She wondered what he knew, if anything. She wondered what she could tell him. Could she trust him?

She wondered what Claire would do. What Chris would do, or Jill. What Billy would do.

But she wasn't any of them, and they weren't her. She had to make the decision herself: she had to make her own choices and live with the consequences. She needed to trust herself, because if she messed this up, she could be jeopardizing everyone, even Billy.

She focused her thoughts away from Billy and towards herself. She didn't see Jacob's smiling serenity, or Johnson's weary eyes in the mirror. All she could see was the future: the possibilities.

Good or bad.

But she didn't even imagine what lay ahead.

Johnson carefully helped her to her room, and closed the door behind her and Jacob.

For the first time in years, Rebecca didn't know what to say to him.

Billy had shown her what real men did, what they were like. There had been nothing between them: romance couldn't exactly sprout life in that cesspool of zombies. But she had relied on him: he had been her rock, her stronghold, her grip on reality. She couldn't have survived alone.

Jacob wouldn't have survived at all, she realized.

Rebecca didn't know what made her do it: she heard that feeling alive was the best way to combat death. She didn't want to feel nothing. Even if it hurt, she wanted to feel something.

So she took Jacob and kissed him, and let his fingers trail hot fires all over her body. She ignored the awkwardness of his shy and eager caresses, and just let him kiss her, all over her body until she felt a slow burn within her skin, as if her very blood was boiling from his touches.

She let him have his way with her, treating her carefully, gently, her sweat making her clothes stick to her body, until he peeled them off. And then, somehow sensing her need for human contact, he slid inside her, not asking for permission, not stopping.

It was awkward, but when he filled her, she felt a bit of the emptiness soothe away. She was alive, and so was he. It wasn't his fault she had gone through what she did. All Jacob had ever done was love her.

And when he groaned into her shoulder and collapsed on top of her, Rebecca just wound her fingers in his hair, not minding his premature finish. She wasn't done, but it wasn't the pleasure she needed now, the gratification. What she needed right now was the reassurance, the smell of live sweat and Jacob's happiness permeating the air.

She sat there silently, Jacob sleeping on top of her, and thought.

And when she cried, she pretended it was only her sweat.


	20. Motions

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry the updates have taken so long guys, really! I didn't mean for it to take so long, and then gypp you out of a couple hundred words, too. This chapter is shorter than usual, unfortunately. But it gives you enough fodder so I hope you like it. Or at least enjoy it ahahaha….**

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><p><strong>Motions<strong>

The clock ticked irritatingly, rhythmically. Rebecca and Johnson faced each other, a cup of coffee gripped in his hand, tightly enough for his knuckles to turn white.

Rebecca wasn't as stock-still as Johnson. Beneath the table, she twisted her fingers around in her lap, picked at her cuticles until her hands bled.

All was silent except for the clock. Tick. Tick. Ticking her off.

"What did you want to ask me, Rebecca?" Johnson broke the silence first. Rebecca detected a flash of nervousness in his eyes.

She'd become more aware lately.

"What do you know about the Arklay Incident?" she asked abruptly, not bothering to ease into the question.

His eyes flashed with anxiety. "Only that it was your first mission: about the murders of your friends—"

"Don't give me the same story STARS told the media. Tell me what you _know_, working for _Umbrella_."

She spat the words as if they were like the poison Richard had running through his veins.

"Rebecca—"

"Don't lie!" she warned him, feeling ill. She knew he was lying. She could feel it, could see it. She was nauseous.

He seemed to crumble beneath her. It had been almost two months since the incident. "You're like a zombie!" Jacob had complained. The remark literally made her vomit. She couldn't handle this anymore. She needed answers.

Chris had run off somewhere: looking for ways to stop Umbrella. Rebecca had worked there for a month. She still had nothing. She kept in contact with him, and whenever Claire brought up the subject of Chris ignoring her calls, Rebecca lied and said she hadn't heard from him either. Claire complained that she was going to come back to the city to hunt him down, and Rebecca hoped with her whole heart that Claire wouldn't follow up on her impetuous promise.

Johnson sighed, breaking through Rebecca's thoughts. "Rebecca-"

She had enough of his evasions. "God _damn_ you!" she swore at him, the curse slipping roughly from her lips. "Tell me the truth, Johnson! Tell me the damn _truth_! It's torturing me! I know you know something! _Tell me_!" she screamed at him. "Can't you see it's driving me _insane_? It's a nightmare I can _never_ leave!" she blubbered, trying and failing to keep her voice strong, to keep her eyes from welling with tears. "Every time I _blink,_ I _see_ it! I see _everything_! I'm the _only_ surviving member of Bravo: I survived it for _two_ nights, Johnson! I wasn't _nearly_ as capable as handling it as Chris, or Jill! I could've _died_ countless times! Every time I sleep, I wake up every hour, terrified I'm back _there_. You _know_ what I saw: don't even _pretend_! Just please," she broke down, her cuticles bleeding in her lap, her tears running down her cheeks, mucus slipping from her nose like a hysterical child. She didn't bother to wipe it away.

Johnson felt his control slipping as he watched his student, his protégé, and his surrogate daughter break down after nearly two months of holding it in. He honestly hoped she'd never suspect him, never ask. He couldn't bear lying to this poor girl. She was a medic, not a fighter, but she had watched her friends die.

She was different now. Rebecca had always been different from her peers, but now she was alienated even from him. She woke up before the sun, and ran, jogging in circles for miles, for hours, and usually didn't return until ten. She exercised constantly with her old comrade Jill, and was always on edge for the telephone. Her once slender frame had become drained: she had lost close to ten pounds, even with the additional muscle. She rarely ate, and the shadows underneath her eyes rivaled the haunted shade in her eyes. She constantly picked at her nails, bleeding everywhere. She was absentminded, but also alert to the minutest movement. Any sudden movement had her reacting, twitching, trying to keep herself from running for her gun, which she had kept even after leaving STARS.

She never confided in him or Jacob anymore. The boy was at the local community college, and although he was over as often as ever, the chemistry between them had changed. The relationship had been casual, mutual. Now, Jacob watched Rebecca with intense love, a worshipful attitude, and she mostly ignored it. Not on purpose: but her mind was never nearby. She was distant.

"I know there was… human test subjects. Lisa and Jessica Trevor were injected with the Progenitor Virus. Jessica showed no results, whereas the daughter Lisa showed promise," he recited from memory. "She went mad, and during her long tenure as a test subject, killed several employees. She became Umbrella's guinea pig. She uncannily managed to survive all forms of experimentation. Recently, due to her immunity, Umbrella extracted a strain of virus from her, which the employees are working on developing now."

"Why?"

The single word carried such pain, Johnson felt it himself. He resisted the urge to clutch his heart at the sight of Rebecca's defiant, weary face.

He looked at her. "To create the perfect bio-organic weapon."

Rebecca looked at him, processing the information. And when she spoke, she sounded a thousand years old.

He realized she was eighteen years old. A high school aged girl. Not yet even a woman. Yet she went through the fight of her life, faced a nightmare not even he could imagine.

"Zombies. The reincarnated James Marcus explained to us about the T-virus and how he created it. I killed dozens of people, zombies. I killed Edward, because he became one. I met Lisa Trevor. I watched Richard die, I got shot by my captain."

Johnson's first reaction was that she was insane.

But then her jumbled explanation made sense.

James Marcus had been working on a virus, by combining P and the DNA of leeches. Johnson hadn't known how successful it was, but he had been assassinated the year Rebecca had been named a child genius.

Johnson searched the recesses of his mind for the name of whoever had finished his work.

Birkin! Johnson recalled. One of Marcus' apprentices had taken over the work and finished it. Birkin, creator of the T-virus.

The T-virus was meant to animate the inanimate: and in this case, dead bodies.

He suddenly felt ill. The needs of an infected create were basic and instinctual. The instinct of a reanimated human would be first and foremost to feed.

A sweat broke out over his brow. He suddenly realized the implications of her words.

Her Captain had been involved in it. What was his name?

Wesker.

He paled and suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Albert Wesker was widely known within Umbrella as one of Marcus' and Spencer's pets: their prize, their prodigy.

What if the assassination hadn't been an accident? There had been tension between the two founders before the death of Marcus: perhaps Spencer had sent his apprentices to kill the man, then ordered them to take credit for the virus…

It had been planned from the beginning.

Umbrella desired Rebecca because of her impeccable genius, but when she originally rejected their offer of employment, she became dispensable. It was only convenient that she was a member of STARS, led by Albert Wesker…

The American branch of Umbrella was researching combat efficiency. Leading STARS in as test subjects against the creatures.

It made sick sense.

The fact that she survived and now worked for Umbrella made her a very valuable player… she'd rise quickly in the ranks, because the higher ups would know, and want to make an ally of her.

Or they could always kill her.

Rebecca was almost unaware of the myriad emotions flashing through Johnson's mind, but was focusing on herself. It was _her_ turn to be selfish.

The doorbell rang, and mechanically, Rebecca wiped away her tears. Jacob.

She recalled that they were supposed to go to a movie.

She was barely dressed.

Billy had almost reached for her, touched her.

He had almost tried to make sure she was real.

Establishing themselves in Raccoon City had been easy: it was a large place and nobody had recognized him. He absorbed newspapers and maps, devouring information. Humanity was such a wonderful thing.

One day, a particular article had caught his attention. STARS.

It was just a picture and a caption, but he had stared at it for hours.

_The STARS team held a memorial service for their fallen brethren, who in their last mission to capture a cannibalistic murderer in Raccoon Forest ended unfortunately._

Underneath the caption was a picture of each of the STARS member and their names, and next to the names, "alive" or "deceased".

He scanned the names of the men, and when he reached the final one, his heart constricted in an odd emotion. "Rebecca Chambers: alive."

It was a picture of her looking at the camera, shocked, her eyes bugging widely in surprise. It was a candid shot, and Billy carefully ripped it from the paper and slipped it in his pocket.

He had gone to the same drugstore the next day to get the paper, and that's when it happened.

She was in sweatpants and a thick jacket, despite the sunny weather, and a tan, gangling boy had leaned over her in concern as she murmured.

She was small and fragile and alive.

Billy truly fought back a lump of tears, seeing her wan, pale face. She was miserable, she was weary, and she was alive. He felt hope, for the first time.

He hadn't seen Ada in several days: he had no idea what she was doing. As of yet, she hadn't proved herself to him. He knew nothing about her, and it was likely to stay that way.

He felt himself remembering her constantly, since he had seen her. Walking past her, ignoring her, not even looking at her: it had been the most difficult thing he'd done in years.

He'd hardly thought about her until that photograph had shown her sunny, lighthearted, goofiness. Her eyes, even in black and white, shone with hidden depth in it. Something about seeing her had triggered something within him, until he no longer knew how he felt about the brave little girl who had been his partner, his friend.

She had believed him.

Maybe that was what drove him so crazy now. Before, she had been a cop: albeit a small, clumsy rookie, but a professional.

She was just a _girl_.

The revelation was earth shattering. She was eighteen years old. Anna had only lived to be eighteen: and because of him, Rebecca had lived.

That's what it was. It was Anna.

If Rebecca lived beyond eighteen, everything would be okay.

Billy wandered to the first church he found and knelt at the pew. He devoutly believed Anna's presence was stronger in the church than anywhere else.

He wracked his mind for her, for any suggestion, any hint that she was there. Nothing but his own memories, nothing but his own desires.

What Billy regretted most was not _remembering_. He could no longer recall her exact scent when she got out of the shower, or the way her palms felt. Were her hands soft and smooth, or were they callused? He couldn't decide on the exact size and shape of her eyes, or the length and shine of her hair.

He was a dick.

It didn't occur to Billy that he had lost her eight years ago. He was twenty six years old and she had died when they were eighteen. She had been a child: she had never experienced life with him. She was gone, stuck and static at eighteen. His only reference to her was his memories, his illusion of her. But if Anna were alive now, would she be the same Anna? Would she scream at the sight of bugs or blush when he kissed her in public?

What would _he_ be like if she had lived?

Would they have the regular happy family? Two kids and a white picket fence? Would she make him dinner every night and do his laundry?

Well, she wouldn't have done that either way, but it was nice to pretend. Anna pregnant, her stomach poking over her maternity clothes, beautiful and radiant. Giving birth to a child of _his_.

What if he couldn't hear her now because he couldn't remember the nuances of her voice? What if he wanted to forget, to move on?

Did that really make him a monster?

It was raw, the feeling of betrayal. Even the thought, questioning his motives, doubting himself had him clenching his fists. It was as if she were there next to him, his love was so alive for her.

Was he afraid to let go of her? Was he a little chickenshit, too worried and scared to let go of the one thing he'd loved unselfishly?

What if true love was real, what if he could never find another person like her?

He might as well be dead.

Rebecca opened the door. The first thing she noticed was the red rash along Jacob's neck.

"What's that?" she asked animatedly. Something she could throw herself into. She was a medic for STARS: or had been.

He shrugged. "It itches," he replied, scratching at the irritated skin.

"Well don't _scratch_ it!" she rolled her eyes at him, feeling a smile creep up. That was the affection she held for Jacob. She grabbed his hand and looked under his nails. "Disgusting!" she proclaimed. "Look at all that blood! That's what you get for picking—"

"Have you been crying?" Jacob asked her suddenly.

She smirked at him, trying to give him a smile. "Of course I have!" she lied. "I just watched Cinderella. Happy endings always get me."

He looked at her, and she noticed his eyes were dull: Jacob's eyes were usually bright and glassy.

"You're sick," she sighed. "Why did you come if you're sick?"

"I just wanted to be with you," he answered, and she felt a twinge of guilt.

"Just sit down and we can watch a movie here. Pick anything you want," she offered generously. Their tastes differed.

Jacob picked a tape and slid it into the VCR. Rebecca distractedly watched him, rather than the movie. He scratched at himself habitually, and his skin was peeling and irritated. But she didn't recognize the symptoms.

After a while, he fell asleep. Rebecca noticed Johnson had quietly slipped upstairs when Jacob had arrived, quietly ending their little scene. She wondered what would happen now.

Jacob groaned and rolled over. She scooted over on the couch: he looked like he was going to vomit. She was going to have to clean up her boyfriend's puke. What a great day.

He opened his eyes and Rebecca immediately detected something wrong. The smell of sickness on him had changed, gone fetid. She stood, ready to run for the flu medicine, when he groaned again.

The sound was unearthly.

She looked at him carefully. What was wrong with him? She'd never seen anything like this before. Was it serious enough for him to go to the hospital?

He opened his eyes and that's when Rebecca knew, in the pit of her stomach and the drumming pulse of her heart.

His eyes fixed on her.

Jerkily, Jacob reached for her, and she stepped away unconsciously. The blood underneath his fingernails repelled her. Immediately, she felt guilty for turning from his reach. "Jacob," she began quietly, ready to admit to him that she couldn't do the relationship anymore.

He looked at her, analyzing her.

"I think—"

With a groaning roar, Jacob launched himself at her, this time intensely. He didn't stop though, even when he fell off the couch, hitting his chin on the carpeted floor, _hard_.

He stood and reached for her.

Rebecca screamed.

She ran as fast as she could to the kitchen, searching frantically for her gun.

But Jacob beat her too it.

His height, once endearing, now terrified her. His longer footsteps overpowered hers.

She grabbed the broom and beat at him pitifully. "The head…" she told herself pitifully.

This couldn't be real. This wasn't real. This was _Jacob_! He was the only part of her who remained untouched by the Arklay Incident: he was supposed to be _pure_.

Instead, he reached for her, bloodlust in his eyes, in his sickening scent, in his flaking skin.

Jacob was dead.

The virus was back.


	21. Finality

**Author's Note:**

**Hey again guys! So to all my readers: thanks for all the reviews, favorites, and subscriptions! I was talking to my friend about the fic and she mentioned that calling this a "Billy/Rebecca" fic is a teaser, since I've been shoving them off with other people since the beginning of the story. But thanks for staying with me so long anyway! I'm trying to make this story lifelike, realistic, and in the actual Resident Evil world, Billy and Rebecca didn't magically fall in love and live happily ever after in a zombie infested world. **

**But obviously, they have a connection. I wanted to make this seem as if it could be an actual plot that Capcom could make. As if this is the true storyline. It's M for a reason, and I'm glad it's so long. This is the longest story I've ever written, and I'm really proud of it! I'm working hard on it, but I'm on Jill Valentine right now as my favorite character, instead of Billy, so it's harder than before to write him. But I still want to do so much for this! I haven't even completely decided. I had something totally different for this chapter but sometimes when my fingers flow over the keyboard, things beyond my control can happen lol.**

**Thanks for reading guys!**

* * *

><p><strong>Finality<strong>.

"Billy," the sultry tone woke him, roused him from fitful nightmares. A vision of Anna, grotesque and rotting flashed before his eyes. He shook his head, trying to clear the image. Even the thought made him nauseous. The desecration of her body sickened him.

"Ada?" he whispered, a paranoid superstition cautioning him to be quiet.

He tried to focus on her face peering over him intently.

"Wake up," she coaxed him. "This is important."

"What?"

"John is missing."

"John?"

"An important contact."

"The one you're sleeping with?"

"Let's call him a boyfriend. Get up."

Billy rolled over and pulled on his shoes, which were strategically placed next to the bed. Ada had warned him that the time was coming. It was his turn to do something useful. He didn't know what Ada was up to: but he had a job to do now. He thought fleetingly of his mother.

A siren wailed in the night. Ada looked alarmed. "Let's go." She urged him.

He stood and followed her out the door. He grabbed his gun and shoved it into the waist of his jeans, hiding the bulge with his coat.

"The police station," she told him.

She'd meet him there.

Billy jogged as inconspicuously as possible, keeping a watchful eye. Kyle had come and warned him about others watching them. Ada had seemed alarmed, and that's when she mentioned John.

It had been the first Billy had heard of the man, but Ada explained he was her connection into Umbrella. She had been searching for him when she found Billy in the Arklay.

She had begun to explain things more clearly.

Billy hoped that meant she trusted him.

He reached the police station in fifteen minutes. It wasn't closed, but it was quiet. Billy snuck in through a hidden entrance through the sewers. He disgustedly lit matches, kicking away rats. This fucking city and its goddamn rats. Jesus.

He made his way quietly from room to room, hoping the stench of the sewage system didn't follow him. His target was moving around, talking. The weight of the man disgusted him: what he knew about him made it worse. He was a bluff brown man with a love of money and sticky fingers.

Accused rapist, embezzler, and informant for Umbrella.

Chief of Police, Brian Irons.

Billy was so concerned with Irons, he didn't notice the man behind him until the rash-covered, pale face was inches away from his neck…

"Johnson!" Rebecca screamed.

Time was distorted.

Feet came pounding closer, comforting. Familiar.

At the sight in front of him, Johnson considered running. It was over. Umbrella had gone too far.

He considered leaving Rebecca, for a single, solid heartbeat.

He rejected the idea the instant the creature groaned and turned menacing eyes towards him. Jacob had been a gawky, gangling boy. This was a creature awkward and slow and dangerous. His touch didn't bring death: it brought infection.

"Run, Rebecca." He said calmly as the jolting walk started towards him. "Go to the police station. No one can doubt you now."

She looked at him blankly, her green eyes hazy with distress. "Johnson…" she was poised for flight. Yet she couldn't bring herself to leave without him. Despite anything, everything that had happened, she couldn't leave him. He held keys to her past, to the present, to the future. All the whys, all the whos, all the answers were his. She might never discover the answers if he sacrificed himself. She couldn't bear to let it happen.

Jacob moaned, a spine chilling, blood curdling groan that echoed in her teeth.

Johnson looked at her, resignation in his eyes. "Go, Rebecca."

Then he was down, screaming. Jacob hunched over him, and Johnson fought. Not to try and stop the inevitable, but to buy her time, to run. Because he knew she was rooted to the ground, staring, broom in hand.

Rebecca quietly walked out and locked the door behind her.

Then she started to run.

Billy turned around at the cool, foul scent reeking at his neck, ducking in time for the teeth aimed at his jugular to snap at air.

Billy looked at it.

Deceptively, the creature was slow and easy to avoid.

But the horror wasn't the creature's speed or skill. It was a mutation, a sin against humanity. It was a mockery of life. It was a graveyard terror come to reality.

Billy's shock was greater than anything. After all he thought he'd left behind, he had only fallen right into another trap. He was destined to never escape.

To aim and fire was to create a commotion, to jeopardize his mission. To not, was to die, to risk the lives of innocents who had nothing to do with anything.

His target was Irons. Not an anonymous man who had the misfortune of infection.

Christ, infection.

T.

One infection meant others.

He blew a hole in the creature's brain and ran to hide.

Rebecca's thought process completely stopped as she ran. She catalogued everything she saw in her mind, stored away for later. She had a stitch in her side. She couldn't breathe. She was sweating. Her hair was greasy, her clothes slipping from her wasting frame.

She witnessed two car crashes and five zombie children.

Beyond functioning, she avoided the children.

One little girl was maybe five years old, a teddy bear backpack strapped to her, her blond hair tangled and red with blood.

Rebecca saw a flash of her face, a missing tooth in the front, flesh hanging from her mouth, dark and cocoa colored, in contrast to her pale white and red complexion, riddled with a rash and the pallor of death.

Of infection.

Safely arriving at the police station, she sat, gravel grinding into the seat of her pants. Tiredly, she closed her eyes, trying to gather strength to face Irons, when she heard a bellow beyond any terror she had ever felt in her life.

"_STARS_!"

Lifting the phone from the cord, Irons grumbled onto the line. "What?"

"We need STARS!" a voice frantically cried over the line.

Suspiciously, Irons snapped back. "STARS was dissolved!"

A scream later, the dial tone beeped. "Sonovabitch," he muttered, irritated at the constant streams of calls that had been flowing in for the past hour. "Goddamn crank-calling kids."

Again, the phone's loud jingle broke through his concentration. "Help!" the voice begged abruptly. "Where's STARS?"

Irons hung up, ready to disconnect the phone when another call came through.

"WHAT?" he roared, hoping to intimidate the caller.

"Zombies!" a sobbing voice broke through the line, before going dead.

Irons listened to the dial tone, a sudden realization sinking into his heart. It hadn't been crank callers, it had been real people.

Dying.

A smile broke across his face. Playful. Predatory.

He wasn't a stupid man by any means: he knew when to accept Umbrella's offers, and when to begin backing away. He'd been informed somewhat of their going-ons, but when STARS had returned with the outlandish story, he'd contacted his source.

Stifle the story, the man told him. Irons obeyed, piecing together enough information to understand what had happened.

If it was happening again, he'd simply play around a bit, then take his leave. His men could subdue the outbreak in danger zones. He could stay right here in his office, until he decided what he wanted to do with this dangerous… _delectable_ information.

Billy reeked of sewage. The scent followed him the same way the creatures did. They multiplied in an hour, infecting one another, attacking former allies, eating their own comrades. Cannibalism wasn't a word to be applied to this, because the humanity in these monsters no longer existed.

Billy made his way to the front of the police station, fully intending to get the hell out of there. After that… he didn't know. Second by second, he was trying to improvise. The very appearance, the continued existence of the virus completely tore up his plans.

Survival was the only matter of importance now.

Billy skidded to a halt in the front of the police station, dazed by the sight of a creature beyond his wildest imagination.

The creature slightly resembled the creature he had seen in the facility. Twice as muscular, eight times as menacing, and a hundred times as smart.

"_STARS_!" it bellowed, stomping forward, clearing Billy's vision.

Sitting on the earth, dumbfounded, weary, shaking and alive, sat Rebecca 'Officer Chambers'.

The split second of relief and incredulity was shoved out of the way by terror.

The creature charged and Rebecca rolled out of the way, scrambling up, scrabbling against the gravel and cement, scraping herself in her frantic rush. She ran inside the police station, barricading herself inside, never even seeing him.

His urge to protect her overrode everything. The creature turned on him and Billy collapsed in the middle of the street, his will breaking. The effort to try and stand, to keep his dignity, his life, was a literal weight pressing upon him. Gravity fought him and his vision swam. He heard gunshots in a distant place, surrounding him. He could not sense if they were close or far, left or right, in front of him or behind him.

"Billy," a soft voice whispered insistently in the back of his head.

He was drowning, battling himself. It was a never-ending struggle to even find the will to live. His instinct was to give up, to fall apart, to just close his eyes and relax, never have to fight again. It would be so nice to just stop.

To see Anna again.

Once more, the voice haunted him, coming from around him, as if someone was whispering in both his ears, but echoing within his head, bouncing around within the confines of his skull. "Get… up…"

The voice was fighting for power as much as he. Blinking sluggishly, trying to get up, trying to clear the blurry image of the monster that attacked Rebecca, Billy forced himself to breathe, and at the same instant, a shout burst through his skull, racing through his veins, a shot of espresso to his adrenaline as Anna Richmond screamed his name, warning him of the approaching horde of undead…

Rebecca doubled over in pain, panting. Saliva dribbled from her mouth, and she was too exhausted to wipe it. Her body was beyond strength, beyond caring. She was surviving off pure adrenaline.

The sight of the bellowing monster had triggered the natural fight or flight reaction within her. The sight of waving purple tentacles, the enormous body, the armored scaled figure made her decide to escape as fast as she could.

Trying to ignore the apparition that had also appeared behind the demon had been even more terrifying.

Billy.

He'd been there.

She saw him.

He didn't exist.

But he had been there.

Chief Irons.

Even remembering what happened just minutes ago terrified her. She was scared. She didn't know where to go.

She just wandered. Avoiding creatures when she could.

Avoiding Irons more.

Arguing with herself internally did nothing. She wandered about the police station. She saw no one else.

Nothing but slowly creeping zombies, arms outstretched. But that was the norm now. Humans were a rarity. What if it was she and Irons, the only ones left?

Occasionally, she thought she heard the cry of a child, or the grunt of human life. But she knew not to be fooled. The second she reached the source of the pain, she'd find nothing but the decaying corpse of an infected person.

She opened the door to the STARS office.

A human stood before her, his shoulders taut. Something about him seemed familiar. "Ada," he began, turning.

Then he paused.

The dark eyes studied her intently. He raised a gun to her. "Who are you?"

She was beyond fear of death. She noticed the walls seemed dingy. She'd never noticed that before. They should've painted the building. She always thought it seemed sort of dreary.

"I'm with STARS," she said, wondering if the creature had been a figment of her imagination, the way Billy had been. If her terror made her imagine the horrors. If she was crazy. Maybe none of this was real. Maybe she had lived her whole life in a dream. She was still a child at the orphanage, where Umbrella was good, where Lindsey was human, where Johnson was alive, where Kyle was a steady source of comfort, of familiarity.

His hand never wavered. His finger was a hair's width from the trigger. She wondered if it would be fast.

Not why, never who, just if.

Not why she deserved to die.

Not who was judging her right to live.

Just if it would hurt.

But then he wavered.

"Rebecca?" he asked, his voice alight with wonder, curiosity lining the previous smooth contours of his face. His youthful face.

"What?" she asked dully. Her name?

He hardened. "I thought you were—"

"I'm Rebecca."

"Don't lie to me," his hand as steady.

She looked at the man in front of her, her surprise yanking her from her apathy. "Kyle," she breathed.

He didn't hear her.

"Kyle!" she croaked, her surprise breaking her voice.

A shout behind her broke both their concentration. A yell. A human.

"Rebecca!" the voice shouted. A masculine voice. Deeply, unforgettably, powerfully masculine.

"Billy!"

Kyle's cry came in unison with hers. Their surprised was mirrored in each other.

Rebecca's apathy was gone. Suddenly she felt light, optimistic. She didn't care how. But Billy was here. She wasn't crazy, but even better, Billy was here.

He wasn't in danger, any more than she was. The old rules were gone. It was only time to survive now.

He burst in the door, cracking the hinges. "Rebecca," he breathed, his voice low and thick with emotion.

He wrapped her in his arms, and she didn't have time to react. But just as fiercely, she threw her arms around his muscled frame, relishing the feeling of human touch, of the sweat and life and vitality that was Billy. He was warm, and she felt heat seeping into her. She felt tears well up in her.

Johnson was gone. Lindsey was gone, Jacob was gone. Chris was gone, Jill and Brad and Barry… who even knew? But Billy was here.

She felt a flood of joy, and when Billy released her, she hurtled into the arms of the astonished Kyle, and began to sob.

"You're here!" she hiccupped, wails wracking her frame. "Kyle, you're alive, you're alive…"

Kyle looked down at the girl who tossed herself at him. Rebecca. Coen stared back at him bemusedly, his eyes mirroring the same expression as Kyle's own.

She shook with powerful sobs, her body thin and fragile. She eventually subsided to teary gasps, and tenderly, he looked at the little girl he'd once regarded as his best friend. This was a young girl who couldn't help but inspire emotion.

"I can't believe you're here," she whispered incredulously. "I was so lonely when you were gone."

He didn't know what to say. Kyle had lost his way with words a long time ago. But he cradled her small head in his hands and looked at her, into her enormous green orbs, the color of celery, fresh green, bright and pretty. But when he spoke, his words were directed at Coen.

"Ada lost contact with me. I won't be able to reach her." he admitted soberly. "I've got a route out, by car." His voice trailed off. "Let's go."

The indomitable Ada Wong, the legacy of Maggie Coen, was probably dead. But it was over anyway. The Organization was over, and all of the agents were freed.

His last favor to Maggie was to save her son from the mess that was his fault.

Rebecca followed Kyle dazed, clutching tightly to Billy's hand. Kyle handed them both pistols, and she cradled it to herself like a godsend.

They reached the car without incident. She couldn't decipher between reality and insanity. Kyle. Billy. Alive. Here.

Protecting her.

It was surreal when they calmly drove out of the city, safely. But then Kyle just kept driving.

She drifted off, still holding to Billy's hand. He radiated heat, comforting warmth. The scenery outside the window rolled comfortingly. The scenery was alive.

"I was searching for her for hours. It didn't even occur to me that you'd be there. Or that Ada wouldn't…"

"Hours?" Kyle's voice was sharp from the front seat. "After you saw the creature?"

"Yeah." Reflexively, he squeezed her hand. She struggled to awaken, but exhaustion shut her down.

"Did you happen to find Irons?"

"No. But there's no way he can survive. I don't understand how you got us out."

"He won't survive either way. And I mapped this carefully the instant I found out. I never would've sent you and Ada in there if I had any idea. We're over. But it's only a matter of time for Umbrella anyway. That was your mother's goal."

"You're so blasé," Billy looked at Rebecca, his throat convulsing, tears making his pitch deeper.

"There's nothing I can do." Kyle's voice was threaded with bewilderment, with hopelessness. "There's nothing I can do anymore."


	22. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

**Hey guys, didn't make you wait as long for this chapter xD hope you like it! I know it kind of seems like I'm rushing through things, but trust me, the pacing is exactly how it's supposed to be. All of the recent developments are going to have more limelight.**

**Thanks to my reviewers and everyone who's alerted me. **

**Read/Review, thanks :D**

* * *

><p><strong><span>Nightmares<span>**

_Rebecca sat at the Chief's desk, moving a long stool over. Sitting in his chair seemed inherently wrong. She wouldn't have before. Why did a zombie apocalypse have to change that. She didn't want to… arouse his anger? Disrespect him?_

_She sat. _

_**Billy**__._

_She must've zoned out, lost her sense of time, her touch with reality. When she returned, the Chief looked at her, gun in hand. "Chambers?" he growled, his voice frog like and throaty. She nodded._

_He sat down next to her._

_Rebecca thought perhaps he was trying to comfort her, barricaded in his office. Rebecca leaned against the short back of the bench, feeling uncomfortable. But why should she feel awkward around this man, old enough to be her father?_

_He put a hand on her knee, the heat from his hand soaking through her pants. He was sweating. She didn't blame him._

_His breath smelled like a hamburger. McDonalds. Lots of ketchup, mustard. Probably pickles. _

_But he was trying._

"_Chambers," he breathed, slightly too close for comfort. He was a bumbling father, like Barry, right? He was a familiar figure, like John—_

_She wouldn't think about it._

_Was it her or did his meaty hand slide higher?_

"_I know it's hard," he whispered, in what she assumed was supposed to be a soothing tone. "I know this has been extremely hard…"_

_His hand definitely slid higher. She wondered if he was drunk and trying not to fall over on her. He really could crush her. His hand squeezed around her thin thigh. She patted his hand dully, trying to let his words pierce through the veil._

_But his hand slid even higher._

_Rebecca was distinctly uncomfortable. She scooted away, but she had mistakenly slid the bench too close to the desk, and she couldn't move any farther away._

_His hand slid to mid-thigh, wiping the sweat of his palm against the thin material of her sweat pants._

"_Chief," she said, feeling nauseous. Was she imagining things? Was she insane? _

_She felt the cool barrel of his gun as he slid his armed hand under his shirt, resting against the curve of her hip. _

_His hand was inches from her._

_She was truly going to vomit._

_The scent of his breath, combined with his sickly false words made her sick as he squished her between his large thigh and the cool metal of the inside of the desk._

"_So hard," he murmured again, as she tried to ignore his words and shut her eyes. A gun. A hand. Which was preferable?_

_He gripped her tightly and she burned, her face red. Her cheeks felt as if they were on fire._

_His arm pulled her close and his leg pressed her harder as he soothed her with false words of comfort. He was literally leaning over her, holding her. His thumb traced circles on her skin, the metal of the gun chafing her. His other thumb did the same, and she felt a deep shame, a deep fear._

_He began to rub her, hard, too hard, painfully, cooing in her ear about the death of loved ones. The gun dug into her skin and she cried out, trying to get away. _

_At her cry, his eyes flashed dangerously. A predator._

_She'd shown weakness._

_He dropped all pretense. The smell of beef coated his breath and he licked her ear, growling. "Like that?"_

_She was afraid to look, and she shut her eyes._

_He carefully set the gun down on the desk, taking her pain for pleasure. _

_He stood, a struggle. He yanked her down on the floor, throwing himself on top of her, crushing her with his thick weight, slobbering on her, and she panted, holding back her tears._

_She shut her eyes._

"Rebecca!" Billy shook her roughly.

Her sobs abruptly stopped. "B-Billy?"

It had all been real.

Billy was real, Kyle was real, and the memory of Irons, was all too real. It wasn't just a nightmare, it had truly happened.

She was in a hotel room. Billy was holding her hand. Kyle was 'scouting'. They were two people in her life she'd never be able to forget. And now she didn't have to. They were both here.

Billy looked at her, his deep blue eyes luminous in the night light.

The hotel room had on bed. He stood in his jeans, shirtless. It was a warm night. No zombies around. Only Billy. Only her.

She didn't realize that the tears were still dripping down her cheeks until Billy sat down next to her. "Are you okay?"

She couldn't help it. She barely knew him. She didn't know him at all. But he made her feel safe. She broke, letting the sobs shake her, until he gathered her in his arms, his warm, strong arms that cradled her with all the gentleness she'd never known.

She let everything out.

She cried for Lindsey, for Johnson and Jacob, for Jill. For Claire being away at college, for Chris being away. She cried for Irons, for Kyle, for the "Ada" Kyle had thought she was. She cried for Wesker, for her injuries, for her disgusting clothing. She cried for herself, because her period was due any day. She cried for Forrest and Richard and for James Marcus. She cried for Joseph and Kenneth and Enrico and Edward. She cried for her childhood. She cried for Umbrella.

She cried for Billy.

It was probably an hour later when her cries ceased. But he never stopped holding her silently, calmly.

"Thanks," she sniffled, snorting and feeling like an idiot. Billy wasn't crying.

He handed her a tissue from the nightstand and she blew her nose. She looked ridiculous, she knew. But she couldn't bring herself to care.

She exhausted herself and she leaned against him tiredly. He moved and sat against the headboard, pulling the blankets over her. She cuddled up to him, and he tightened his grip around her, still quiet.

She fell asleep in his arms, peacefully for the first time in weeks.

Billy glared at the décor as Rebecca's breathing became steady. His heart thrummed with pain as he thought about the wrenching sobs. She had so much to cry about, he thought. He didn't know the half of what she had to deal with. Christ, he felt fucking guilty for her.

He wondered how she knew Kyle. He wondered where they'd go next, or even if there was a 'they'. But he was exhausted. Rebecca's fitful sleep had agonized him, to the point where he couldn't stand letting her soak her pillow. But holding her was infinitesimally sweet. The tenderness he felt for this small, young girl just continued to grow.

He thought about the apparition. About Anna. Her scream, her disappearance.

Billy felt lighter. Something that had weighed him down was no longer a part of him. He grieved, inwardly, but he knew it was time to let go. Anna Richmond was gone, and he had to accept it.

He brooded, taking care to keep his grip gentle on Rebecca. He planted a kiss on her forehead, and closed his own eyes, images flashing behind his lids.

He slept peacefully for the first time in years.

She woke up screaming.

There was nothing. Not even fear. That's what scared her.

She woke up to Billy's intent gaze.

His eyes were dark blue and navy.

She stopped screaming.

The room was empty. Just the two of them. She felt butterflies low, in the pit of her stomach. She didn't dare move, didn't dare touch him. She hardly even dared to breathe. She remained, frozen.

Billy looked at Rebecca. Her scream halted, and afraid that she'd begin again, he kept eye contact.

Her eyes were luminous, shining, wet with tears and glowing iridescently. She barely took any space on the mattress.

He wondered if he was asleep, if the shine in her eyes was part of his dreams.

But why would he dream about Rebecca?

Great tears welled up, dripping from her cheeks down onto the pillow. Obscenely large, they fell, leaving dark spots on the worn, white sheets.

It was a dream. He'd never seen tears this enormous.

He traced the wet trail down her cheek. She stayed perfectly immobile.

He wondered what she'd do if he kissed her.

It was only a dream, right?

He could dream.

It was all that he had left.

She traced his lip with a single finger, her expression filled with wonder. It was his dream. She would kiss him back… if he dared, even in dream.

He rested his hand atop her cheek. Her skin was paper thin, but smooth, soft. She had a tiny cut across her forehead, a hair width long. Her eyelashes swept across her cheeks. Gently, carefully, he inched towards her, and tasted her lips.

She made a little mew in her throat, and her small hands held his larger one against her cheek.

Flavored like misery, sorrow, and hurt, her lips were soft, small and dry.

He felt calm flood him. A calm that hadn't come over him since Anna's death. It was almost… peace. More satisfying that content, less exuberant than joy. He didn't have a name for it.

Releasing her, he moved away. Her tears had stopped.

She was terrified of him.

He saw it in her eyes, a deep-seated fear that completely threw him off balance.

"Don't," she almost whimpered, her voice a whisper. "I can't. Not again."

Goosebumps ran up his arm. "Rebecca," he broke out, his voice cracking. "Are you _afraid_ of _me_?"

She couldn't be. Not after everything they had been through together.

"Irons—" she said, her eyes in a trance. "Stop. _**Stop**_!" she screamed.

* * *

><p>Kyle's license identified him as Duke Travis.<p>

He passed through security with ease, keeping a superior smirk pasted on his face, his expression and expensive clothing contributing to his facade. Years of working for Maggie had been a fiscally brilliant move. Although when he was on the job, his living quarters were less than satisfactory, his retirement had given him a lovely two million. And he wasn't picky. The money would last him a lifetime.

Which wasn't particularly long, considering the usual lifespan of an agent. He didn't mind. He had his own reasons for what he did.

"Going to the meeting room, sir?" a guard asked him respectfully, noting his clothing and name tag.

He answered imperiously, adding a slight Italian lilt to his words: "Yes. In which room may I find the President and Senator?"

"Room B-204, sir." The guard inclined his head slightly as Kyle passed. This was an important moment. A contact had given him a complete identity within the government. It didn't matter that nobody actually recognized him: his false name made him a valuable commodity.

He reached the room, slightly late. A short, squat man looked at him angrily. "Travis!" he boomed, his voice flat and nasal, his brows wrinkling to add more cracks in the concrete of his face. "Welcome!" he barked.

Kyle took it in stride, continuing with the accent. "Thank you, sir. What is it we are discussing?"

He took a seat next to the President. Secret Service agents fidgeted. From the corner of his eye, he spotted an agent.

He looked away immediately.

"We were about to vote on option A… you missed the explanations, but you're here on time to vote, Mister Travis," someone leaned and whispered in his ear.

Before he could ask what option A was, Senator Davis glanced up. Twelve people in the room. "All for wiping Raccoon?" he asked gruffly, raising a hand.

"Aye," the room chanted. Six people raised their hands. Kyle realized the impact his decision could have on any survivors in Raccoon. It decimated Ada's chances of coming out alive, if she still was.

Coldly, he raised his hand in the air and echoed: "Aye."

The President looked at the men and women that made up the secret court. His most trusted friends… plus a few. His eyes were tired: he was relatively young, and halfway through his term.

A woman strode in the room: tall, with caramel skin and rich dark brown hair. Her pencil skirt framed her muscular legs, but her bookish glasses and clipboard belied the athletic appearance.

The president looked up. "Yes, Hunnigan?"

She sighed, and hissed into his ear. Kyle kept his gaze averted. Ingrid was another contact.

The president nodded, shooing her away, and looked at everyone in the room. "Raccoon City will be decimated. Umbrella Corporation is bidding for more time, however."

"How _much_ time?" Kyle demanded roughly, trying to keep from shouting. The viruses needed to be destroyed as soon as possible. And if Raccoon was destroyed, wouldn't that be the end of Umbrella?

"Give them till October first," Davis answered for the president. A woman glared at him. "That's too much time! There's an outbreak of some sort and if it's contagious it could spread like wildfire!"

"Like the Black Plague," someone added somberly.

Kyle wanted to tear his hair out. It was worse than that! This wasn't just a virus that could kill you. This was a virus no one could escape. This was a virus that killed, that reanimated. If his information was correct, it wasn't the only one. Umbrella could have dozens more, germinating beneath the ground in their cesspools.

He sighed. "October," he agreed.

* * *

><p>She thrashed against him wildly, terrified, screaming. "Rebecca!" he shouted frantically. "It's Billy!"<p>

She fought him wildly, clawing at him. "I don't _care_, I _don't_ _care_ if you kill me, just _stop_!" she screamed hysterically, sobbing. Her terror wrenched at his heart, her eyes frenzied.

He grabbed her wrists, thin and starved and weak, and pinned them above her head. She stopped fighting, but she weeping that came after tore at him.

"Jacob," the evidence of her sorrow reflected in her eyes, in her hoarse voice. "Johnson, I'm sorry I ran. I should've stayed. Jill… Claire, Chris… I'm sorry for everything."

Her sorrow seemed to tire her out and she closed her eyes tightly. "God, Billy, I'm sorry,"

His heart lifted. She came back to reality.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"It's okay," he whispered back, trying to comfort her.

Her eyes flew open. "_Billy_?" she asked incredulously. "You're… here?"

"Yes," he coaxed a smile from her gently. "You're here, with me, with Kyle. You're safe here, Rebecca, calm down."

Like a wild, exhausted mare, she relaxed. "You have cuts on your face," she reached for his face. He released her wrists and she touched his face tenderly.

He stayed perfectly still, but yet she flinched at the feel of his growing beard. "Irons—" she began fearfully.

"No, Rebecca," he shook her a little. "You're in shock. It's _Billy_. Billy _Coen_. Billy from the train,"

He rolled away from her and she sat up, wiping tears from her eyes.

He couldn't describe the feeling that hit him, like a brick to the chest. "Rebecca… what happened? Why are you afraid of me?"

"I'm not afraid of you," she looked incredulous. "Never you, Billy." Her voice became faraway.

"What are you afraid of? You were shouting about… Irons," he hesitated to inform her of his mission, so quickly gone wrong.

Her face seemed to shutter in on itself: an expression too old for her age. "Nothing," she lied, staring him in the eye.

What she went through in less than two months rivaled what he had seen in years with the Marines. He took her hand, slowly. "Don't do that, Rebecca," he told her gruffly. How would Anna say this to her? Don't go cold? "Don't shut people out. It hurts," he admitted awkwardly. "It hurts like hell. Don't let it break you, Rebecca."

She looked at him. "Has it broken you?"

He released her hand swiftly.

She glared at him. "Don't be a hypocrite, Billy! How do you know how much it hurts? You know, I know next to nothing about you. Don't tell me not to break, when you're cracking yourself."

"I'm not cracking," he answered quietly. "I'm healing. And you will too. But it's hard. Don't break." His voice was tight, filled with contained pain.

"Tell me, Billy!"

And he did.

He told her all about Charlene Regan's stupid fucking sweet sixteen party, and meeting Anna. He told her how he felt about her, how much he loved her, how the feelings didn't die when she did. He told her about his grandparents, smiled at stories that seemed like ancient history. He told her about his mother, about Ada and Kyle. He told her about seeing her at the police station, about the creature she ran from. He didn't mention Irons.

She crawled over to where he sat on the bed and squeezed his hand. "That's more than I would've ever known about you."

"You knew about Africa."

"That doesn't count. I don't need to hear about the lies. I want to hear the truth. I don't care what you've been accused of; I want to know what you've been through."

"You do, now."

She looked at him, her youthful, unlined face filled with worry of a woman twice her age. "You should cry, Billy." She told him achingly, looking at him the same way Anna used to. "Just let it out, even if it's only once."

Billy was used to adversity, to tragedy. What he didn't know how to react to was kindness, understanding, and trust. Rebecca had been all three things.

He let the lump inside his throat swell for a minute. "I'll cry if you tell me what scared you," he answered, his voice thick. He swallowed the pain.

She looked at him sideways, her eyes ashamed.

A suspicious grew in him. "Rebecca—"

"Don't guess!" she ripped out, turning her burning face away from him. "Let me tell you." She took a deep breath. "Irons…" the words sounded like they were form a movie, not her life. Zombies. Rape. All as unrelated to her life as anything could be. Yet it was true. "Raped… me."

She felt close to vomiting from her own words. It sounded like the complaints of a woman in court. It wasn't something she wanted to confess to Billy, strong, stoic Billy.

Billy felt rage boil inside him. He wanted to _kill_ that fucking bastard. Rebecca was close to a _child_. He should've shot him. Fucking _Christ_… he let a rapist get away scott fucking free. Hopefully, he'd get eaten by a creature.

Billy's rage culminated in his throat. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't swallow the lump. So he didn't.

All the rage, the fury, the sadness and pain swelled inside him and he let it free, let the tears wash it out, cleansing him.

Rebecca enveloped her thin, muscular arms around him, pale and small, barely able to wrap her arms around his arms and rested her head in the crook between his next and shoulder. "It's okay," she soothed him. "Just cry."

The fact that Rebecca was trying to comfort him was almost more than Billy could bear. Christ, she was a fucking innocent kid. Her goddamn life had been ruined by a faceless corporation. Her entire _life_. Jesus. He swiveled and held her, pulling her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her bony frame and cradling her, dripping tears in her soft hair. She reached up and kissed his cheek, but he turned his face down towards her, capturing her lips, the taste of her mingling with the tears stinging his cuts.

"Rebecca," he drew away, fearing her reaction.

She looked up at him, her eyes impossibly beautiful, heavy lidded. "Help me… forget, Billy."

He didn't dare breathe. To have sex with Rebecca? Here? Right now?

He had almost made his decision when she turned her face away. "Please…" she whispered softly. "_Please_, Billy…"

Unable to resist the hypnotizing sound of her voice, Billy slowly leaned in, tightening his grip around her, worried that she'd break.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"I need it, Billy… help me."


	23. Lips

**Author's Note:**

**I know it has been a ridiculously long time since I last updated. And it took me forever to write this fucking chapter, and I am not at all pleased with it. But I haven't updated in probably over a month, so I figure just shove it on up. It's the end anyway. Oh well. Read and Review! Be brutal, I know this one sucks and I need tips.**

**BTW, lemon alert. Shitty lemon. This is why the chapter took so long for me to write, lol.**

**It's an abrupt ass ending, and I plan on continuing this at a later date: another story, featuring other Resident Evil characters. Most likely it will be Jill/Chris centric. I'm not sure yet, but enjoy.**

* * *

><p><span>Lips Touched<span>

Lips met.

Billy gauged the situation. Christ, had she been a _virgin_ when Irons had fucking snatched her? How could that've happened? Even the image of the enormous monster hadn't terrified her as much. Those creatures, they were acting on instinct. They weren't human. Irons' actions had been done out of cruelty, selfishness. He was a monster, more than any virus, any experimentation could be.

This was about her. He promised himself to take it slow. Delicately, deliberately, he laid her on the bed. She shut her eyes, waiting for the imminent. But instead of stripping himself, Billy lay next to her, and tenderly traced the shell of her ear with his lips, trailing hot breath down to the crook where her shoulders and neck met. He kissed the hollow of her neck, the rapidly racing pulse. "Just… relax," he urged her.

Her eyes were framed by dark lashes. She had a smudge of a bruise near her jaw. He lightly kissed it.

Now that he had the utmost freedom with her, he was unsure what to do with his newfound power. Earlier, when emotion had overcome him and he kissed her, there had been the forbidden thoughts racing through his head, until he couldn't catch his own breath. But, he reminded himself. This was about helping her. Not about seeking his own release.

When he deemed her ready, he rested a hand on her breast. Not moving, barely daring to breathe, he waited. After a tense moment, she relaxed, then fidgeted.

With experienced eyes, Billy could tell that she was slowly simmering beneath him, partially from his kisses, and from his sudden shift in gears.

Sliding a hand lower, he stopped when he reached the bottom of her shirt. His warm hands met her skin, and he splayed his hand on her stomach. Her languid repose began to tighten, and he felt her stomach clench and unclench beneath his fingers.

Tuned into her body's reactions, Billy changed his mind. This wasn't just about helping her forget. She deserved pleasure beyond what she knew existed.

Stripping down to his boxers, he waited a moment, until she realized he didn't intend for her to undress as well. Her body was stiff.

Billy ran his fingers down her body, lightly, exploring the contours of her body through her clothing. When he reached her hip, he left his hand resting there, suggestively. Heat seeped from his palm to her hipbone, and she shifted restlessly again.

He carefully peeled off her socks, her feet tiny in his much-larger palm. His fingers wrapped tightly around her feet, warming them.

Turning to face her again, and fighting his tenderness towards her fragile repose, lust suddenly swarmed up, nearly blinding him. He choked on a breath for a moment, and tried to calm himself. Fucking Christ.

He lay back next to her, trying to slow his thudding heart, when she reached for his face. The simple touch sent his heart careening. Her expression unsure, she lifted her face to meet his, and kissed him.

He rolled on top of her, pulling himself on his knees so he couldn't crush her. She was a phenomenal kisser.

Kissing her desperately, Billy felt his lust rush through his veins like fire. Cupping her face in his hands as lightly as possible, he teased her lips swollen. He released her, coming up for air.

Rebecca opened her eyes languidly. "Billy?" she asked timidly. He met her shy gaze. Splaying her fingers across his chest, she looked at him, as if for acceptance, permission. He moaned at the touch.

Jesus. He couldn't fucking do this.

He slid away from her, panting heavily.

"Rebecca," he sighed her name. Looking up, confused, Rebecca caught her breath. "It's not right… I can't do this to you."

Tears welled up in her eyes and her shame caught her throat. "I'm sorry…" she choked. "I just… I'm scared."

He pulled her as closely as possible, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tightly. "Jesus Christ, don't apologize to me," he kissed her forehead gently. "You don't need to apologize to anyone."

Looking down into her eyes, he didn't see Anna. Billy saw Rebecca, the feisty, shy, smart, young, tough and fragile girl who'd saved his ass dozens of times.

He saw the dusky shadows under her eyes and the lines of stress between her brows. He saw the tears clinging to her lashes and the way her lower lip was full and swollen.

"Rebecca," he whispered in her ear, soothingly. "I want you to do something for me."

She nodded, her eyes locked on his.

"I want you to take off your clothes."

Rebecca's heart plummeted, but she couldn't resist the hypnotically tender look in Billy's navy gaze. She slid from his arms and stood up, feeling nauseous. Biting her lip, she took a shaky breath and pulled off her clothing, piece by piece, until she was completely naked.

The chill in the room gave her goosebumps, and she self consciously tried to cover her chest with her arms.

"Don't be ashamed." Billy told her gently, holding back the anger in his voice. Jesus, she looked awful.

Purple-black bruises, red cuts, and blue veins stood from her body, splattering her as if it were a canvas portrait. He felt fury flood him as hot and powerful as his lust.

Despite everything, she was beautiful.

Slender and muscular, the countours of her body were strong and visible. The dip of her waist was deep, her bottom muscular, her legs sculpted. Her arms were strong, her full, small breasts partially hidden by her arms.

"What now?" she quavered.

"Come here," he invited, opening his arms. Rebecca nearly leapt into them, wanting to hide her body.

Billy's body and mind were warring. It was wrong, she was too young, too innocent, too scared… but his body reminded him that she was willing, she was beautiful, and, feeling her heartbeat thump on his shoulder, that she wanted him too.

She shifted, and his body won.

Billy couldn't even honor his inner promise to go slowly. He gripped her waist, massaging her stomach, and bit down on her lip, caressing her mouth with his tongue, forcing her hips to grind gently down on his.

She gasped, then moaned, hanging her head back, shivering, and Billy deliberately took one hand and, firmly cupped her with his hands.

He felt warm liquid falling onto his hand, and smiled to himself, moving his lips down to her vulnerable neck and gently tracing butterfly kisses until he reached the crook of her shoulder. Golden, auburn-brown hair rustled as she breathed heavily, sighing. The pink shading on her shell-like ear captivated him. The smooth transition of her forehead to hairline mesmerized him. Her lips were chapped and red, swollen from her lip biting and his kisses.

He could wrap his hands around her tiny waist with ease, moving his hands upwards to warm her breasts, the smooth, silky skin of her torso at odds to his rough palms and callused fingers. She gasped at the touch and looked at him intently, studying him. He paused his ministrations, meeting her intense gaze.

Rebecca watched Billy closely. His eyes were dark: navy blue. The strong structure of his face made her feel safe: protected. She moved her stare to his mouth. She kissed him, hard, shivering at his response, trying to memorize the strong muscles of his chest and back. He tasted so good, so _alive_.

He moved away, kissing her breasts, massaging them with his tongue and mouth, nibbling, biting, caressing them. She moaned at his touch. But while his mouth distracted her, a hand slid down to the place where her legs met the rest of her body, at the junction between them. A warm, wet head melted from between her limbs and he pressed a strong finger against her, eliciting a soft cry. Her breathing became erratic as she waited for him to continue, impatiently, desperately. He moved away, taking away his warm skin. As cool air hit her, she recovered slightly, but when his tongue replaced his finger, shock and pleasure collided. She scooted away from him, but he coaxingly moved closer,

"Billy,"

Her voice was shaking. She heard it, as if it were from a distance. This wasn't her. This couldn't be her, could it?

It seemed surreal, lying here with Billy. She thought of the dog tags. She thought of Jacob. Of Johnson.

Lindsey.

Kyle.

She wasn't the pitiful orphan any longer. She had been granted a curse: she had been given a fate.

Billy's roving mouth distracted her thoughts, scattering them. She forgot, in that moment. She forgot about Irons.

She forgot about pain.

All she could think of was Billy, his mouth, his lips, the pleasure coursing through her. His eyes penetrating her.

She writhed in his grasp, waiting for elusive fulfillment as he kissed her, rubbing her with his tongue, nibbling. She grasped the sheets, her stomach churning, her need almost painful.

But then she released.

The climax hit her until she almost sobbed with relief. She looked at Billy, noting sweat rolling down his forehead. Guilt consumed her.

What right had she to ask him for that? It was personal, it was private, she was in an emotional state…

She tried to look for reasons to regret it. Jacob's face. Anything.

But nothing came.

Billy carefully, tenderly lifted her, holding her in his arms like a bride, her slightly damp, sticky skin pressing against his. Blushing, she clamped her eyes shut. But Billy took her to the bathroom. He turned on the hose and let the water warm. Stepping inside, still holding Rebecca, he unwrapped the tiny gift soaps. Scentless and cheap, the tiny bar was square and stern, glaring at them. He rubbed the ivory bar between his much-larger fingers until they were pleasantly soapy, and began to wash Rebecca.

Flushing, she let him. He wrapped warm, soapy fingers around her neck and rubbed gently, careful of her bruises and marks. The water flowed over them, warmly. She felt hot tears well in her eyes, and was glad the shower hid them. She felt a lump grow in her throat and tried to swallow it.

Billy immediately stopped. "Rebecca, I can stop. I just—"

"No—" she managed to choke out, filled with gratitude. She began to cry, right there on the shower floor. "Don't stop, Billy. Please."

She didn't understand the look that passed shuttered his gaze for an instant. But she waited.

"I won't." he promised before continuing.

He washed her hair, her skin, rubbing her small feet between his palms.

To him, she was a priceless treasure.

Jesus Christ, he hoped for his sake that he didn't get any more involved with this girl.

* * *

><p>Kyle returned to a pristinely neat motel room, troubled. Billy sat on the bed, Rebecca fast asleep beside him.<p>

"What's going on?" Billy asked roughly, keeping his voice low.

"They're bombing Raccoon. Ada has no chance." Kyle told him soberly. "Then I met with a private contact. She gave me information on a Chris Redfield, who apparently is good friends with Rebecca."

Billy understood Kyle's abrupt, rough manner and ignored it. He felt a momentary pang of guilt at Ada's fate: but he shoved it down. He'd mourn her later. If it could be called mourning. "Where's Redfield?"

"Apparently he's somewhere in Europe. He was with STARS, and now he has a plan to take down Umbrella."

"I'm sure you were very interested to hear that," Billy answered snidely.

Kyle sighed. "I'm done, Billy. I've spent years of my fuckin' life doing this shit. I'm gonna pull in for the last wave, and then I'm done. I'm in my twenties and I feel like a fucking sixty year old."

Billy could relate. "Well what should Rebecca and I do? She's nothing, eighteen and abandoned. And I'm not exactly a fucking celebrity."

"Change your name. She's fine."

"You gonna stick around any longer?"

"Rebecca and I go back farther than I thought anyone could. She knew me before all this shit. Look where we both ended up. It looks like Umbrella made its own fucking bed with this."

"There's still so much I don't know."

Kyle looked at him tiredly. "You'll know everything soon enough."

Billy glared. "That's not fucking good enough. You know it."

"Yeah."

The silence that followed was filled with exhaustion.

"So what'd you and Rebecca do while I was gone?" Kyle questioned, feeling the need for small talk.

"Fucked around."

Kyle nodded, oblivious. Christ he was tired. He met with Hunnigan after, waiting for her in an alley way. She was a priceless informant: he wouldn't give her up for anything.

"So whaddya mean by the last wave?"

"I'm gonna go back in and look for survivors." Kyle told him truthfully.

Billy studied Kyle for a minute. "You're more of a man than you look." Kyle merely nodded. "Why? You could die." What he did not say was Kyle's unique combat and intelligence skills gave him a deft advantage. Anyone could get killed in that situation.

"Maybe I'll find something interesting. But from now on," Kyle changed his accent so that it was unrecognizable. "My name is Carlos."

Kyle slept, woke up, and proceeded to transform himself. He went from a mediocre looking man of average—well, everything—to a muscular, Spanish man.

"So why do you need a new identity for this?"

Kyle answered with softly accented Spanish: "I'm a mercenary working for Umbrella. We've been sent to rescue any survivors. They have a helicopter to and from."

"Where'd you find this out?"

"My contact."

"Figured."

Rebecca stirred. Turning to her, Kyle looked at Billy. "I'm a man of many secrets."

Raising a brow, Billy shot him a dry smirk.

"If I don't come back—" he hesitated. "Just tell Rebecca thanks for everything. And if I don't come back, you have to find Chris Redfield. Don't fucking make a joke out of it. This motel is paid for. You have a month here. Don't fuck up too badly."

Pausing, Billy looked at him seriously. "I'll take care of her."

Kyle felt something swell from his stomach to his throat. Now was not the time to cry. Especially not in front of Billy Coen.

He paused before leaving, looking at the scene. Curled up beneath the worn blankets was Rebecca: Billy stood over her, arms crossed, like a guard dog.

"Thanks," he answered gruffly, and left.

At the door's click, Rebecca woke. The instant she saw Billy, she blushed. He felt a grin spread across his face almost instantly, but it faded at the thought of Kyle.

"Where's Kyle?"

Billy wasn't sure how to put it delicately: he felt an odd urge to shield her from the news. But that was ridiculous, she was a grown woman. "He uh—he went back into Raccoon City."

Rebecca's eyes widened. "Everything I know about him, you've told me." She admitted soberly. "He was my best friend, and now he's a stranger."

"He probably thinks the same thing about you." Billy pointed out. He remembered his earlier opinion of her, that night on the train. How she had healed his wound, embarrassed the entire time. "The world is different than it was six months ago, doll face."

She almost smiled at the pet name. "At least you didn't call me little girl."

"I think that'd be a little inappropriate after last night."

Her face flamed. "Do you—want to talk about it?"

Billy wished he'd never brought it up. "Not particularly," he answered shortly. He'd fucked a lot of girls since Anna's death, but with Rebecca it had been different.

It was different because he cared about her so fucking much.

The thought of losing Rebecca physically sickened him. Christ, what the fuck was happening to him.

Billy had long ago stopped dwelling on things. It made everything seem so ridiculous. His life was so completely different from how he had ever imagined. Anna, Africa, zombies, Rebecca. Ada, Kyle.

"I guess there's a lot we should talk about." He changed his mind. "Can you contact a Chris Redfield? Kyle said it'd be important- in case he didn't come back. And honestly, I doubt he's gonna make it. There are some pretty freaked out things in that place."

"He's a walking miracle," Rebecca mused.

"I don't know shit about him, but he's pretty incredible," Billy grudgingly admitted. For some reason, he wanted Rebecca to feel that way about _him_, rather than Kyle.

"Billy?" she asked hesitantly.

He gave her his full attention.

"Just… thank you. For everything. What you've done for me—you don't even know me… but I wouldn't be alive right now without you. Not on the train, or in Raccoon, and last night—"

"Did it help?"

Red faced, she averted her eyes. "Yes," she whispered, barely audible. "I just needed—I didn't want to be afraid."

"Were you a virgin?"

A few days ago, he never would've asked her a question like that. Maybe as a joke, just to get a rise out of her, but right now, he was deadly serious.

She shook her head ashamedly. "No…"

His fingers stretched in the air before him. "No need to elaborate," he told her kindly. "But I'm not just gonna fuck you and leave you."

His declaration surprised himself more than it did her.

"I just feel so pathetic lately…" tears were in her eyes. "I keep telling myself to be stronger, but I feel like I'm falling apart. Especially after the train and the mansion, going back was awful. Then watching Johnson—he and Jacob killing each other. The infection is a curse. I want to stop it, but I'm so scared." She rushed out. "But I'd rather die fighting than just let it go."

"Then we're all on the same page, Rebecca," he answered.

"Chris will help us. I am- in contact with him, I mean. His sister- her name's Claire, she's in college right now, so she won't be in Raccoon. Thank goodness. I couldn't stand the thought of her dying."

"I can't believe we made it out, still. But you need to track down Chris."

"I'll e-mail him—he told me too, if there was ever a problem."

"I think this counts."

* * *

><p>Alrighty, I hope everyone enjoyed this. I know the ending is ridiculously closure-less, but hey, isn't life like that? This is a series, so if you want more, put me on Author Alert!<p> 


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